


Matters of the Heart

by Caseo



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Origin Story, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caseo/pseuds/Caseo
Summary: Ever since his transformation, Warwick is perpetually at risk of losing himself to the beast. The only thing that can save him is the heart of the starchild, Soraka. But is this a line he can cross?





	1. Chapter 1

He'd come here with one purpose in mind: To get stronger and faster. To be a better hunter. For seven years his life had been driven by that purpose - the need to root out and destroy all the scum that dwelt in the underbelly of Zaun.

Of course, he was scum too. Warwick was no stranger to the dark deals and violent vices of the city's lowlifes. That was what had given him his edge; He knew exactly how they operated, how they thought, what they feared.

They would fear him, if they knew what was good for them.

He uncorked the flask in his hand and drained its bitter green contents in one go. His lips curled into an unpleasant scowl as he felt the concoction settle into the pit of his stomach. His arms and legs ached from all the injections that the mad doctor had given him in preparation for this moment. His body was primed; now all that was left was for the mixture to work its magic.

Seconds later, he felt it. A fire started burning in his gut, and soon after it began to spread all over his body like a searing spark burning down the wick of a bomb. His muscles locked up in agony as he fell to the cold metal floor of the room he'd consigned himself to. A racking, spasming cough worked its way up from his throat as his lunch threatened to leave him. He lifted his head and locked eyes with the man standing behind the locked, barred door on the far side of the room.

Singed, the mad chemist of Zaun, stared back at him with delight evident in his beady eyes. Warwick grit his teeth as his vision swam. He would teach the chemist a lesson for taking pleasure in his suffering.

And then, it happened. The changes began. He felt his muscles swelling, his skin burning, his bones cracking. His world shrunk down to a pinprick of light against a consuming blackness as he hovered at the edge of unconsciousness. He didn't even have the wherewithal to wonder what was happening to him. All he could do was try not to fall into unconsciousness, for a part of his mind screamed that it was a sleep he would never awaken from.

He let out a tortured cry of agony as his very being threatened to collapse before him.

It came out as the furious howl of a beast.

* * *

"You're finished. The syndicate is done with you," The man said with a sneer. Off to his side, his companion, one of four, held a terrified woman against his chest with a muscular arm.

"If you want to kill me, fine. But let her go," Warwick said, matching the man's stare with the glare of one who'd killed plenty of people for less than this.

The man scoffed at him. "You honestly think you have a leg to stand on?" He nodded to his associate, and with one smooth motion he began to draw a knife over the struggling woman's throat.

Everything froze in place. He'd revisited this memory so many times, and yet still he couldn't stomach recalling her death. Instead he focused upon their faces. Five men, each of them perfectly characteristic of Zaun's monstrous underworld, from their scars to their facial hair to their cold, dead eyes. Four of those men were dead now, by Warwick's own hand. Only the one who'd gloated at him so still lived. But not for long.

* * *

Blood. Warwick - that was his name, he remembered it now - Warwick could smell blood. It was everywhere in this unfamiliar place, but that wasn't what was driving him crazy.

It was those damned heartbeats. He could hear them, three of them, each distinctly. They hammered away at his ears like the crackling of thunder, a constant, pounding cadence that threatened to make him tear his hair out. He wanted, no, _needed_ to snuff them out.

He raced along through the cramped, poorly-lit corridors on all fours, his claws making scraping sounds along the rusty metal beneath him. He didn't care if they heard him; they wouldn't be able to escape him.

He caught sight of one of them as he rounded a corner; a bright pulse of warmth in the center of his vision, highlighted all the more against the cold metal of the hallway. With blinding speed, he closed the distance to his prey and drove him against the wall. His claws acted without a need for further thought, tearing his victim apart in a torrent of hot blood.

The ecstasy Warwick felt in that moment was beyond the ability of his current faculties to describe. It was perfect; it was purpose. His ears, atop his head, twitched as he heard hurried footsteps disappearing around a corner nearby. One heartbeat silenced, but still two to go. He had prey left to slaughter.

* * *

Warwick didn't know how long it had been by the time he stumbled back into the large chamber where he'd started. His senses had begun to return to him, and as he collapsed onto his hands and knees in the center of the room he truly took stock of his new body for the first time.

Almost every inch of his skin had been covered in a dark, coarse fur. His fingers now sported sharp claws instead of nails, and his torso felt considerably heavier than it ever had before. It seemed he'd been rebuilt to move fastest on four legs instead of two.

This… wasn't what he'd wanted. He was fast and strong, for sure, but… what was that bloodlust he'd gone into? He needed _control_ if he was to exact his revenge. He staggered unsteadily to his feet as he approached the gate behind which Singed had stood. The mad chemist had apparently been waiting patiently all this time for him, because he looked at Warwick with an expectant glimmer in his eyes. "How did it feel?"

Warwick grabbed at one of the bars that made up the door. "Awful. Painful. I can't control it." He gnashed his teeth and realized that they, too, had been made razor-sharp. "Turn me back."

Singed clasped his hands together before him, his spindly arms raised as he momentarily looked thoughtful. "I'm afraid that's impossible, my dear bounty hunter."

The door shook violently as Warwick's claws tried to dig into the metal, leaning forward sharply. " _What?_ "

He swore he saw the chemist smiling behind the wrappings that covered the lower half of his face. "This transformation is quite permanent. I thought you'd be happier; you've become the ultimate killing machine, after all."

Warwick could feel the rage boiling up in his chest as he stared at the man across from him. Just a few iron bars between them; surely he could tear this door off its hinges before Singed could even get a few feet away from him. His vision tinged red as his ears honed in on the chemist's slow, steady heartbeat.

And then he shook it off, if barely. He felt his eyes refocus upon the man's face, and realized that Singed had been studying his expression just then. "I can't control it. I'm turning into a beast inside and out. I can feel it. You _have_ to do something."

He heard Singed chuckle - a dry, raspy sound. It could almost have been mistaken for a cough, but he'd spent enough time in the man's presence to know better. "I don't _have_ to do anything for you. This was an act of charity for a long-time associate. That it served as an effective experiment was just icing on the cake."

"I could tear this door down and kill you right here."

Singed didn't seem concerned. He gestured to the large flask that straddled his back with a casual indifference. "You know that if you do, my dead-man's flask will kill you just as quickly." More wheezing laughter. "You should really know better than to come to me for alchemical solutions. But - if you really are determined to maintain your senses, I may have something of a fix for you. It won't be cheap or easy, though."

Warwick breathed a small sigh of relief. "Whatever it is, name it. I can get gold, ingredients, people. You know me."

The chemist shook his head, almost seeming disappointed in his associate's lack of imagination. "Oh, nothing so mundane. In order to stabilize your transformation and give you permanent control over yourself, I'll need nothing less than the heart of a celestial being."

A silence settled between the two of them as Warwick blinked, several times. It took him more than a minute to process that before he balked at Singed. "You're kidding me. This is your idea of a joke, isn't it?"

"It's no joke." Singed was definitely smirking now. Warwick bit back the ever-intensifying desire to cut out his entrails and show them to him. He knew well enough that the dead-man's flask was nothing to sneeze at. "You have your work cut out for you! Perhaps it will be a suitable opportunity to test your newfound strengths."

Warwick scowled at him as he stepped back from the door, letting his claws drop to his sides. "Fine. I'll fetch it. It's nothing I can't handle," He snarled. "And when I get back," he lifted a finger and pointed a deadly-looking claw in Singed's direction. "You better not try to screw me again."

The chemist's laughter followed him out of the chamber.

* * *

Warwick didn't know much about the gods of Runeterra, but he'd at least heard of celestial beings. They dwelt up in the heavens, amongst the stars, presiding over the myriad races of the world as almighty arbiters and observers. Or so the legends said. Warwick hadn't had much room for faith in his heart since he was a child.

But he'd heard rumors. Whisperings here and there, in the taverns and ratways of Zaun, that a celestial being made their home somewhere in the marshes nearby. Few were willing to investigate, of course. Living in Zaun taught you to be wary of powerful figures, and besides, it could just as easily be a lie devised to lure people into a trap. Taller tales had been told in the gutterbound city before.

Still, any chance was a chance Warwick was willing to take right now. As soon as he'd ventured back out into Zaun he'd felt himself beginning to slip. Something about the city had always put him on edge. The people, the culture, the architecture. Normally it simply kept him on his guard, but now… now it encroached upon his self-control, and by extension his very being.

Warwick was not prepared for what he found out in the marshes, however. The area around Zaun was largely decrepit and strewn with toxic waste. Life did not thrive in the wake of Zaun's ever-relentless drive for technological progress. That… didn't seem to apply to this one place.

Before Warwick was a grove of bright, lively trees that seemed to have sprouted from nothing. The grass was a bright, healthy green, and the water that flowed into the grove turned abruptly from murky to crystal clear. It was as if someone had transplanted a patch of Demacian meadowlands directly into the waste-strewn marsh. Or maybe not; it seemed even more lush than what little of Demacia he had seen.

He felt compelled to wander into the grove. At once he could hear birds chirping, leaves and branches rustling, and animals winding their way through the trunks and brush all in a unified chorus of life. It was so utterly unlike the city he'd departed from mere hours ago. He leaned over a small, babbling brook and could see a clear reflection of himself.

He didn't look even remotely human anymore. He looked like a beast; a wolf, specifically, but one that could stand on two legs. He was all lean muscle and messy fur, with two dark, piercing eyes. It wasn't right.

Warwick didn't get much further into his contemplation before he was distracted by another faint sound; he recognized it a moment later as a gentle melody, winding its way through the trees. He knew little enough about music, but guessed that it was some kind of wind instrument. His canine ears twitched as he followed the lilting, pleasant tune steadily to its source, working his way between the trees.

Eventually, he came into a clearing, and soon after discovered the source of the sound. A woman was seated upon a stone before a small pond, playing what looked like a flute all by her lonesome. She didn't look particularly unusual, save for her dress; long, blue-black hair draped over her shoulders and down her back. He could see the pale skin of her arms where her vibrant orange tabard left them bare. She wore a dark blue skirt that now bundled up beneath her folded legs, and her pretty face was set in a serene expression of concentration with her eyes closed, focused entirely upon her music. The only thing that marked her as anything other than human was her pointed ears.

The bounty hunter found himself overcome by the aura of this place, of this woman, as he momentarily basked in the melody she played. It stopped far too soon, however, and the woman set her flute down before opening her eyes to regard him calmly.

Now, Warwick realized, there was something else that marked her as inhuman - her eyes were white. Not just the sclera, but her irises and pupils, too. He could only tell she was watching him because of the angle of her head. "Welcome to my grove," She said. Her lips curled into a warm smile, but it quickly faded. "Do you need healing? You seem to be under a rather dire curse." She straightened up as she spoke, concern evident in her tone.

Warwick found himself at a loss for words. This was not what he'd expected when he'd set out to find a celestial being. He'd thought to find something incomprehensible, overwhelming, and far above his station. He'd expected to fight. Instead…

The woman rose from her seat upon the rock, her brow furrowing in confusion as she wound her way around the little pond to stand before him. "Are you alright? Can you speak?" She extended a hand towards him, and her fingers lit with an amber glow.

He instinctively slapped her hand away before she could employ any magics. "I'm fine. I can speak," he finally managed. "I'm just… surprised, is all."

The woman looked a little hurt by his response, but not physically. He was a little surprised at that, in fact - she didn't even seem bruised. "It's understandable," she said. "I know not many people have experience dealing with celestials like myself. But… please don't think of me like that. I'm a healer and a guide, that's all. I'm here to help." She offered him a hand, palm-up. He wasn't entirely sure what she wanted from him. "My name is Soraka."

Warwick frowned at her. She seemed far too sincere to be real. She had to have an angle. Everyone had an angle. Zaun had taught him that much. Hell, _Singed_ had taught him that much, just recently.

Still, he couldn't see the harm in taking the time to assess the situation. He set his palm on hers, making a conscious effort not to curl his fingers. "Warwick."

He saw Soraka flinch ever so slightly at the feeling of his claws brushing against her skin, but to her credit, she didn't let it frighten her for long. "May I heal you, Warwick? It seems you're in need of it." Her smile seemed as warm as ever, but he still didn't trust it.

He withdrew his hand with a slight shake of his head. "Not yet. Don't know if I trust you."

Her smile turned a little sad, but she nodded at him. "I understand. You're not the first to tell me that," She said with a sigh. "Still, there must be _something_ I can do for you while you're here. You must have come to my grove for a reason, right?"

As she mentioned the grove, Warwick felt his eyes wandering. _Her grove._ She'd created this place. She had to have done it; there was no other way a place so lush and lively could exist so close to a place like Zaun. Warwick knew he'd come here for a reason, but… it could wait. He had time enough to do what he needed to do. He was feeling an odd itch he hadn't felt since he was younger. He wanted to know more.

"What can you tell me about this place? You're responsible for it, aren't you?"

Soraka seemed surprised at his question as her eyes went a little wide. "You… want to know about the grove?"

Warwick nodded. "I've lived in Zaun all my life. I never once imagined a place this green could exist just nextdoor, and yet here we are."

The woman's face lit up. "Well, I've been working to bring this little place to life ever since I first descended to Valoran some four years ago. I collected lots of seeds and nurtured them in the hopes of creating a haven for the sick and weary."

Warwick gawked at her. "Why? How?"

Soraka stared at him in confusion. "Why not? I've always been fascinated with the people of this world. My heart long ached for the suffering I saw here, so… I'm here to lessen it. I was born to be a healer and a nurturer of life. It's my calling."

The bounty hunter shook his head as he extended his arms to encompass the whole of the grove surrounding them. "And you made this, all of this, spring up from a toxic wasteland?"

She smiled proudly at him. "I did." Her smile got a little less enthusiastic as she continued. "Celestials are powerful, Warwick. This grove is woven all throughout with my healing magics. The sick find solace amongst the trees and from the pure water. The lost find their comfort. All creatures, large and small, can neither harm nor come to harm so long as they remain here."

That last part sent a slight flicker of alarm through Warwick's head. "Do you mean that literally? This place magically prevents harm coming to anyone?"

Soraka nodded her confirmation. "I do! This place is a sanctum for anyone in need, even those who need protection from others."

That complicated things. Now he understood why Soraka hadn't seemed bothered by his slapping her hand away; he couldn't harm her, period.

At least, not while she remained here… "That's really quite amazing, miss Soraka," He said, affecting an air of astonishment. "I knew celestial beings were powerful, but not _that_ powerful." He tapped at his fuzzy, elongated chin with a clawed finger. "Do you ever find cause to leave this place? Perhaps sometimes you are called away to heal someone who cannot come here?"

A sad look fell over her face as she shook her head. "That… is one of the limiting factors of being a celestial. This is my demesne. I can make wondrous things happen here, but if I leave, it will wither away and die. I can't let that happen," she said with a grim look in his direction.

 _Damn,_ Warwick thought.

"Well, that's unfortunate…" Warwick said, doing his best to look disappointed.

Almost immediately Soraka began to look worried. "Why? Do you know someone in need of help?"

"Oh, plenty," Warwick said, and for once it wasn't a lie. "Zaun is full of all kinds of people in need of healing."

Soraka seemed crestfallen. "I would dearly like to help them… But I don't think I can. If you know anyone who can make it here, please tell them to visit me, won't you?"

It didn't seem like he was going to be able to convince her - or at least not yet. Warwick cast his gaze to the side as he nodded his understanding. "I will." His gaze caught upon a small patch of flowers growing next to the pond. They were pink and purple, a mixture of intense colors he'd seen so rarely in his life. "This place is very beautiful."

Soraka's voice was soft, and just as warm as her smile. "I'm glad it can bring you some peace. Would you like me to show you around?"

He turned to look at her again. He wanted to accept. Was it to earn her trust, so as to better find an opportunity to make her vulnerable? Or was he genuinely curious? At that moment, he wasn't sure of his own motivations. "If you'd be willing," He said.

She beamed at him as she turned away from him with a beckoning gesture. "Follow me."

* * *

The two spent much of the day roaming through the greenery, with Soraka pointing out different varieties of trees, flowers and grasses along the way. She showed him a few of the animals that called the grove home as well. Warwick found himself asking as many questions about Soraka as he did about his surroundings.

"So you've never actually been to a city?" he asked her.

"Not once."

"Never been to a tavern? Ridden a horse? Been in a crowd?"

"Such things aren't necessary up in the heavens, and as you know, I've only been down here a few years. I've devoted all my time to this project." She slowed to a stop in front of him before turning around to look at him with an amused smile. "This might actually be the longest conversation I've had with a human."

Warwick snorted to himself. "I'm hardly a good example of a human."

Suddenly she was clasping both of his hands between hers. To his own surprise, he didn't react violently. "No matter how far you drift, no matter how much you change, you're still human. You're still you."

He stared at her as she let her hands fall. He didn't know what to say to that. She smiled at him.

Back in Zaun, he'd felt agitated and on the edge of losing himself. Since coming here, he'd felt considerably calmer. Even his impulse to defend himself from any uncertain touch had been dulled. He was fairly certain it had something to do with the magics that Soraka had woven into the grove, but it might also have been Soraka herself. She was so unlike everything he'd ever encountered before.

Normally he'd be intensely wary of anything trying to get his guard down, especially a creature of magic. But there was something in the way Soraka regarded him, something in the way she spoke, that told him she was everything she presented herself to be. She was very powerful - but she was nonetheless a healer and a guide. A protector.

"Warwick? Are you alright?" She was giving him another worried look, her brows knit with concern. He didn't like seeing that expression on her.

"I'm fine. Though…" He sighed and scratched uncomfortably at one of his ears. It was quickly becoming a habit; this new body was very confusing at times. "...I think maybe if you want to try healing me, now is the time."

Soraka's lips parted as her face adopted an expression of surprise. "Really? Are you sure?"

Warwick avoided looking at her as he nodded in a small, jerky motion. "Just do it before I change my mind."

The starchild laughed. It was a dainty, pleasant sound, a sharp contrast to the laughter of the mad chemist. He could faintly see the golden light of Soraka's magic gathering in the corner of his eye as he reflected yet again on how completely different she was to the whole of his experience.

Delicate fingers took his hands as his skin, beneath his fur, was suffused with warmth. When he looked back at Soraka, her eyes were closed as she concentrated upon the magic she was channeling. "Stars guide you…" She murmured. The warmth against his hands briefly flared before fading away.

He didn't feel any different. The frown that creased Soraka's features soon after told him that she hadn't had the intended effect. "It's… not working. I can't seem to dispel your curse."

"Unfortunately, I sort of figured you wouldn't be able to," Warwick admitted.

Soraka was eyeing him curiously, her frown persisting. "What happened to you?"

Warwick withdrew his hands from hers and shook his head. "That's a story for another time. I think I need to be going."

"I suppose it is late," Soraka sighed. "Be careful on your way home, won't you?"

That got a smirk from the bounty hunter. He wasn't the one who needed to be careful. "I will be."

"Warwick." Her voiced stopped him in his tracks as he turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "You're always welcome here. If you ever want to come back, that is." She smiled at him once more and gave him a slight wave of her hand.

He let his gaze linger on her for a long moment before he turned and hurried out of the grove.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Warwick cultivated a habit of visiting Soraka in her grove. Normally the trek out of the city might have been a burden, but in his new, transformed state, Warwick found that he could make the journey in very little time. The two talked at length whenever he visited, sharing glimpses of their respective worlds. Whenever the subject of Warwick himself was brought up, however, he'd brush it aside. He needed Soraka in the dark if his plan was to succeed.

That plan was a steady source of stress for him. Whether he liked it or not, he had to admit that he enjoyed the starchild's company - and that was becoming a real problem. He needed her heart if he was going to keep himself from turning into a mindless beast forever. It wouldn't do for him to shy away from the task at hand simply out of fondness for the woman.

He did his best to take his mind off the issue by resuming his usual work as a hunter of wanted men and women. Thus far, his new form had proven just as useful here as it had in every other respect. Though he didn't much care for looking like a beast, he could certainly get accustomed to the benefits.

The sun was setting over Zaun, the orange-red of the sky very nearly blotted out by the constant plumes of smoke and steam that filled the air above the city's numerous factories. Warwick was on the hunt; his last hunt of the day. His target was a small-time smuggler who'd angered the wrong people; he'd managed to track the poor bastard to a warehouse in one of the lower levels of the city.

Every door he tried was locked, so he broke one down casually with his animal-like strength. The clattering of the bent, battered metal rang out in the spacious interior of the warehouse. It was just barely lit by a few hanging lamps on the ceiling and walls, but the shadows were quite long indeed in the near-evening light.

As he took his first step further into the room, a sharp crack sounded from one of the upper levels, and something bit into his shoulder. He let out an irritated snarl as he clutched at the wound, glancing up to the source of the sound. Up above him stood what looked like a young man in silhouette, the clear shape of a hextech revolver in his hand. "Get a load of this," He spat as he leveled the gun at Warwick again and pulled the trigger.

Warwick saw it coming this time and managed to get out of the way of the shot. He leapt onto a stack of crates, then onto a tall shelf, grateful for the raw strength his legs had developed. He faintly saw surprise on the darkened features of his quarry as he hurried to reload. Warwick didn't give him the chance; he leapt clear across the gap to the platform the man stood on, tackling him to the floor and swiping his weapon away to clatter to the floor below.

The bounty hunter chuckled to himself as he loomed over his prey, claws out and ready to tear into him at a moment's notice. "Serevin Fanes, I presume."

The young man's features were now wrought with panic as he tried to avoid looking at Warwick's prominent fangs. "L-look, the bounty for me is much higher if you take me in alive."

Of course it was. It usually was; Warwick specialized in live captures, and it was one of the reasons he'd come to command such a premium in Zaun's underworld.

But right now, something was eating at him. He could hear the young smuggler's heartbeat, racing away inside his chest. It was like a thousand gunshots in his ears, all going off at once.

He wanted to silence it. His vision grew foggy as he took in the raw terror on his victim's face. One clawed hand slammed down onto the metal floor beneath them, gouging a deep groove directly into it. His breathing grew heavy as his tongue lolled out, his whole body burning to feel this lesser creature's blood spray.

"Please… Please…"

And like that, Warwick felt himself snap back to reality. He took a sharp breath inward as he regained his senses, the painful sound of the young man's heartbeat fading back into the background.

Evidently, Serevin had noticed his distraction, because he took the opportunity to shove Warwick off him and dive off the platform to the floor below. Warwick blinked once before rushing to his feet as he heard a grunt of pain from below, followed by hurried footsteps disappearing in the direction of the door he'd torn open.

He didn't bother to give chase. He didn't know if he'd be able to do that without losing himself again. His fingers clutched at the railing surrounding the catwalk as he forced himself to take several deep breaths. The episodes were getting worse.

He couldn't afford to delay for much longer.

* * *

"Warwick! It's good to see you again." Soraka's smile told him that the sentiment was genuine as she guided him from the outskirts of the grove to the little pond at the center. The two of them sat side-by-side on one of the large, flat rocks that bordered it. "What weighs upon you today?"

"Always straight to the point, eh?" Warwick chuckled.

The starchild seemed slightly abashed. "If you'd prefer to talk about less heavy matters, we can."

Warwick shook his head. Heavy was what he needed. He needed a plan, and he needed it now. "Soraka…" He paused as he grappled for the question he wanted to ask. "Have you ever felt weak? Helpless?"

He wasn't particularly surprised when her brow knit in thoughtful contemplation at his question. She was always trying to analyze him, to better understand him. It was almost cute, in an innocent sort of way. "Well, I suppose you would think such a thing rare for a being that some would consider godly… but even I have moments where I feel powerless. Quite a few, in fact," She sighed.

"I guess I should've expected as much. You're more down-to-earth than a lot of regular people I know," He teased.

She smiled at him, but it didn't last. "I'm curious what brought this question on. Are you feeling helpless of late?" Her expression of concern deepened. "Is it your curse?"

Warwick bit back his reaction as she hit uncomfortably close to home. Then again, she knew precious little about him; he'd always avoided talking about himself in detail, the more to keep her in the dark about his true nature. It was only natural that she would default to pointing to the only thing she really knew about him.

"The only time in my life that I've felt completely helpless was seven years ago," He said, almost without thinking. He found himself lost in his memories again. "When my wife died."

Soraka was silent. He guessed she was waiting to see if he had more to say. As long as he didn't tell her anything incriminating, he supposed he could at least tell her this much. A part of him ached to share it with her, even. "The two of us had gotten married a year before, and we'd been together for at least two years before that. She… kind of rescued me from what had been a very bad life." He stared at his reflection in the calm waters of the pond as he wrestled with his own inner turmoil. "But… that life has a way of following you. One day, it caught up to me, and my bad blood came knocking in the form of five men with weapons and nothing to lose."

When he glanced in Soraka's direction, she was watching him intently, seemingly ready to chime in whenever he needed it. Still, he seemed to have the floor. "They killed her. They were planning to kill me, too, but I managed to get away. I… I've been hunting them ever since, trying to exact my revenge. I've eliminated four of the five so far." He swallowed uncomfortably. He hadn't planned on sharing that last part, but it had slipped out almost unconsciously as he'd stared into Soraka's expectant visage.

The starchild's hand found his, settling over his fingers in a comforting gesture. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Warwick. That must have been the worst night of your life."

Warwick couldn't keep looking at her, though he didn't brush her hand away. "You don't… judge me for what I've done in retaliation?"

"It's not my place to judge," Soraka said. "Only to heal. I don't agree with murder, but…" Her fingers clasped just a little tighter over his. "What I see before me is a man who needs healing, not chastisement."

Warwick let his gaze settle on their hands. His looked monstrous; hers looked demure. They were terribly mismatched. "You really are too kind for your own good sometimes."

Soraka laughed, but it didn't have the same warmth that it usually did. "Sometimes."

That got Warwick's attention, and he lifted his gaze to look at her once more. "What's on your mind?"

This time, it was Soraka's turn to look away, into the long distance. "When you asked if I'd ever felt helpless or weak… the answer was, 'very often'. You see, as a celestial being who's descended to the world of men, I have a great many limiters on what I can do."

Warwick frowned in confusion. "Limiters?"

Soraka nodded. "I've already told you about my demesne; I can't leave here or the grove will wilt, and I'd have to construct a new one from scratch. But there's more. I can't become too involved with mortals. I can heal, and I can offer guidance, but… I couldn't live amongst them. I couldn't involve myself in their world. And… I can't fight to protect them," She said softly. Her voice was so tranquil, but it carried a bitter edge that seemed very out-of-place for the normally warm and pleasant woman.

"I'm not too familiar with how your kind work. What happens if you violate those rules? Do you just… die?" Warwick wasn't sure what answer to hope for.

Pure white eyes met his as she turned her head to look at him. "My divinity will be stripped away. If ever I violated these rules, I would become mortal. I'd lose much of my power, my demesne would crumble, and I could never again return to the stars." She smiled sadly. "It's ironic, isn't it? I have so much power, but I can hardly lift a finger to protect those in need. I'm already pushing up against the limits of what's allowable with this grove."

The gears were turning in Warwick's head. If she fought to protect someone, she'd be stripped of her powers. The protective powers of the grove would fade, and Soraka would be mortal, to boot. He'd be able to kill her and finally… finally…

Warwick felt himself deflating as he stared into his lap with vacant eyes. He only stirred from his thoughts when Soraka leaned close to him. "Warwick?"

He flinched in surprise, turning to look at her again. "Sorry, sorry."

Her smile was one of amusement. He could faintly see dimples on her cheeks. "Were you worrying about me? You shouldn't."

He laughed it off as he nodded his understanding, but his thoughts kept plodding down darker roads.

_I don't need to worry about her. She's just another mark._

* * *

This rank little tavern on the outskirts of Zaun was a place that Warwick had been to many times before. It was a good place for all kinds of deals to be made, away from the bustle and prying eyes of the factory districts. Warwick had made some of the biggest scores of his life in this place, as well as some of his worst enemies.

Right now, it was the last place in the world where he wanted to be. But he waited all the same for his visitors; it wouldn't do to back out of his plan now. He could feel the beast clawing at the edges of his mind, begging for release. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart.

The door to the tavern swung open with a creak of protest, and four sets of boots stomped in. One by one, their owners sat down around the table Warwick was seated at. All of them were men in the ballpark of late twenties to mid thirties. The smallest of them, a man with dirty blonde hair and a scar running over his lips, leaned forward with a smirk. "Damn, Warwick. They said you'd turned into a monster, but I didn't believe them."

Another one, a large man with a thick, bushy mustache, scratched at his chin. "I hear you're stronger than ever, though. Good on you; I don't know if I could ever commit to something that intense."

Warwick bit back a growl of frustration as he clenched and unclenched his fists beneath the table. "Gentlemen," he said, keeping his voice even. "I'll ask that you refrain from further comments. I have a job for you and I expect you to listen if you want to get paid for it."

The smaller man chuckled and leaned back in his seat with a nod. "Alright, alright. We're all-ears."

Warwick fixed him with a glare before reaching into one of the pouches strapped across his chest and pulling out a furled piece of parchment. He spread it out on the table in front of the group, revealing a map of Zaun and the nearby landscape. One spot in the marshes nearby had been carefully circled in red ink. "This here is a magical grove. It's being presided over a celestial being."

The smaller man whistled. His mustached companion suddenly wore a grim expression. "We ain't ever done a hit on a god before, Warwick."

The bounty hunter snarled and slammed a hand on the table, silencing them. "Let me finish. I'm not putting a hit on her. You won't even have to touch her." Once he was certain they were at full attention again, he tapped the circled area with one clawed finger. "I'm going to lead you to the grove. Once I head inside, you're going to follow me in, drag me out, and start attacking me. Go all-out if you need to; anything to make it look convincing. I can take it."

The bald man with an eyepatch sitting off to Warwick's left canted his head to one side. "You want us to beat you up? Why?"

"I don't pay you to ask questions," Warwick spat. "You do your job and you'll get paid in full. Drag me out of the grove and attack me. Make it as vicious as you can." His hand went to his waist, and he slung a heavy-looking pouch onto the table. It landed with the dull thud of metal striking wood. "Here's your down payment."

The big man took the pouch and untied it, the coins inside jingling as his fingers sifted through them. "Well, I'm pretty sure you've gone crazy, Warwick. But this is more than enough to hire us." He grinned beneath his bushy mustache. It was not a pleasant look on him. "We'd be more than happy to kick the shit out of you."

Warwick nodded and pushed his chair out before standing up. "Good. Then come with me."

* * *

Soraka was busying herself tending to some of the flowers near her little pond. Today had been a quiet day so far; She'd only had one visitor, a traveling trader who'd been falling increasingly ill in recent months. Thankfully, she had been able to return him to good health, and he had left just as quickly as he'd come.

Everyone was like that around her; strangely reverent, and afraid. They came to her expecting what she could only guess was some sort of divine retribution, and they always seemed shocked when she was true to her word and healed them. And even then, they were always gone in a hurry.

In the past, she'd accepted that as her lot. The worlds of celestials and mortals were not meant to intersect, and it was only natural that her meetings with the people of Runeterra would be so fleeting. But more recently, her feelings had begun to change. She'd begun to long for more, to see more, to feel more. She had her guesses as to the source of these feelings, but… she didn't think she could ever talk about them. It wasn't her place to seek more from the world. She already had so much power; to ask for more would only be selfish.

She whispered gentle encouragements to the flowers as she fed them a slow, steady trickle of life-giving magic. "You'll grow stronger and more beautiful every day." She smiled as she felt the newfound energy flowing into the grove through her connection to it. It really was a part of her. That was another reason she felt so strongly that she couldn't afford to leave.

Moments later, however, that connection fed her some new information. Someone had entered the grove. And not just anyone; it was a very familiar presence, shadowed by an unfortunate curse. Almost immediately she felt a little rush of excitement in her chest that she hurried to quell. It would be entirely improper to appear giddy or childish before him. She straightened up and took a deep breath to relax and compose herself, and when she turned towards the direction she knew he'd be coming from, she was the picture of serene warmth.

But Warwick was not approaching any more. He'd stopped near the edge of the grove for some reason. Was he taking in the sights? Resting? She was about to head out to meet him when she felt another four presences enter the grove behind him.

She could feel the malice that emanated from them. They were not themselves familiar, but their feelings were. She'd seen men with this blackness in their hearts before. Her footsteps were hurried as she hastened towards the outskirts of the grove.

And then, suddenly, all five presences were gone from the area. Soraka broke into a run as she could only guess at what was happening to her friend.

The edge of her demesne loomed before her, the greenery and life of the trees abruptly giving way to the dreary brown of the Zaunite marshlands. She stopped at the very edge, feeling the thin curtain of magic just before her that marked the limits of her power.

Just beyond it, some few meters away, stood Warwick, surrounded on all sides by burly, nasty-looking men, all of them carrying blunt, menacing-looking weapons. Warwick had a frantic look in his eyes as he tried to reason with them, but it was clear they were having none of it.

"Warwick?" Soraka called, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

She saw him look in her direction, surprise briefly lighting his beast-like features. And then one of the man slammed his truncheon into Warwick's midsection, causing the wolf-man to double over in pain. Another, larger man let out a furious cry as he brought his club down on Warwick's back, bringing him to his knees. Warwick let out a pitiful moan of pain as the men, their restraint suddenly broken, began kicking and clobbering him without rest.

"What are you doing?! Stop!" Soraka screamed, no longer caring how she sounded to any of the assembled men. One of them, the smallest one, briefly turned his head and gave her a sneer of contempt before spitting on the ground in her direction and resuming his beatings.

The starchild swayed slightly, feeling herself in a daze. Warwick was in danger, but he was too far away. She needed to be close to him to heal him, but getting any closer would take her out of the grove. It would wither and die without her magic to support it.

Surely it could at least live without her for a few minutes? Warwick desperately needed her. Every pained cry that escaped him felt like a thousand icy needles piercing her heart. She couldn't stand it. She stepped forward, through that invisible veil of magic that marked the end of her territory. All at once, her connection to the grove was severed, and she stumbled a step as she momentarily floundered with what felt like half of her senses cut off. She righted herself soon after, feeling somewhat more hollow, but spurred by purpose.

"Warwick…" She called as she rushed up to the crowd surrounding him. She called her magic to her hands, intending to heal him.

"Back off! He's ours!" A tall, balding man lashed out with a muscular arm. It struck her firmly in the chest, and her magic sputtered out as she staggered backwards, falling back onto her rear in the mud. Pain throbbed in her chest. She'd never been struck like that before. Without the power of the grove protecting her, she wasn't shielded from harm anymore. She couldn't simply urge them aside and save Warwick.

But that meant… that meant she'd have to attack them to free him. She knew what that would mean. She'd be giving up everything. The grove would never return to life. She could never return to the heavens. She couldn't even imagine all the consequences that would have.

She heard Warwick whimper from where he lay, almost motionless on the ground under a constant assault. "S-Sor...a...ka…" She barely heard him moan her name.

All of Soraka's worries suddenly seemed terribly inconsequential. Her wide eyes focused on the man who, in this moment, desperately needed her help. She would give him that help.

She slowly rose to her feet, grunting slightly in pain as her midsection protested. She raised both her hands, outstretched towards the quartet of assailants surrounding her friend. Violet light blossomed from her fingertips as she channeled the power of the heavens through herself. "Stars, come to my aid!" She snarled the words with a newfound anger, and as she spoke them, the light consuming her hands flared brightly. A torrent of violet streaks surged up into the air above the attackers, and moments later a hail of searing purple comets tore down from the sky and onto them.

The effect was immediate. All of them let out startled cries of pain and shock, turning towards her with a newfound appreciation for her power. Soraka clenched her teeth as she called still more of the fiery purple comets to chase them. Though initially they kept their clubs raised with the intent to come after her, as the torrent became more and more intense, their plan quickly changed, and they began to beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. Soraka didn't let up with her swarm of fiery magics until she was certain that they wouldn't come back.

She let her hands fall to her sides. A feeling of realization washed over her. _I've just attacked a group of mortals._

With that realization came a sudden change within her. The aching pain in her chest where she'd been struck suddenly became that much more intense, and she fell to her knees as she clutched at her torso. She could feel something within herself, that spark of the divine that had marked her as a child of the stars, changing, shifting, contorting. And then, something snapped within her. Her connection to the heavens was severed, and the light within went out.

Soraka's eyes burned with an unfamiliar wetness as she rocked slowly back and forth in the dirt, coughing and shaking. She'd expected this parting to be painful, but she never thought it would feel so… empty. Her mind swarmed with doubts as she wondered if she'd made the wrong decision, if she'd damned herself for all of time.

She heard a weak, miserable groan from up ahead. She blinked once, then twice, to clear her eyes before refocusing them on the crumpled form of her friend, collapsed in the mud a few feet in front of her. She didn't think she had the strength to force herself to her feet, so she settled for crawling the rest of the way to him, setting her hands on his shoulders. "Warwick. Warwick, are you still with me?"

She heard him groan again. His head turned slightly, and one eye glanced up at her. "Soraka…"

"Hold still. I'm here for you," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Slowly but surely, she managed to call her magic to her. It felt considerably weaker than before, and just the act of willing it to life felt like it was draining her. But she did it anyways. Her fingertips were haloed with golden light as she set them upon his back, brushing slowly through his fur. "You'll be okay."

Little by little, the whimpers and groans of pain from her friend faded away. Warwick's breathing steadied until he seemed calm and in-control of himself again. By that point, Soraka was thoroughly exhausted. She leaned heavily against Warwick's shoulder as he managed to push himself up into a sitting position. His arm draped loosely around her, and she was more grateful for it than she could say.

"You saved me," Warwick murmured. "You… gave up your divinity."

Soraka sighed softly and nodded, her eyes closed as she considered that. "I did."

"What… what does this mean?" He said the words slowly, carefully, as if he was choosing them very deliberately.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him. "I hardly know. I never planned on doing something like this. I just knew… that I had to protect you…" She gingerly set a hand on his chest as she spoke. "All I know is that I'm mortal now. I don't have access to my divine spark…"

He was staring at her, and it made her feel a little self-conscious. "Your eyes are different," He said.

Her brow furrowed at him. "How so?"

"You've got irises and pupils now. Your irises are the color of amber."

"Are they pretty?" She smiled weakly at him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Her smile faded as she wondered briefly what was making him hesitate. And then his hand went to her throat. She felt his slender claws pressing lightly against the skin, though his grip was firm. "I'm sorry, Soraka."

The starchild shuddered as she felt breathing become more difficult. She'd never been so acutely aware of the _need_ to breathe before. Was this what mortality was like? "W-what are you doing?"

Warwick slowly dragged her away from his chest, a sharp-toothed grimace on his face. He lifted his free hand, claws at the ready. "What I have to do."

His claws lashed out at her chest. Soraka jerked just barely out of the way; the sharp appendages bit into her chest, leaving raw, red furrows in their wake that tore through her tabard. She winced as pain flared from the site of the injury, and instinctively called magic to her hand. "S-star call…" She gasped, and the light in her palm grew blazing hot as it flared in Warwick's face. He let out a startled grunt of pain as his grip on her slackened, and she tore herself free of him, hastily getting her feet under her and taking several unsteady steps back and away from him. She immediately lifted both hands defensively, keeping her magic ready.

Warwick didn't seem particularly injured by her attack; at best, she'd surprised him. He slowly rose to his feet, and for the first time she became truly aware of just how powerful he looked. He looked like a predator - all functional muscle, designed for chasing and hunting. She didn't stand a chance. Still, she stood her ground. "Why? Why, Warwick?! I thought we were… I thought we were friends!"

Warwick stood there, watching her. He didn't take another step towards her. "You don't know the first thing about me."

The pieces started lining up in her head. Those men that had attacked him - had he hired them? Had he been trying to make her vulnerable all this time? The burning in her eyes was back, and hot warmth spilled down her cheeks as she called out to him in a voice ragged with anger and hurt. "Why? Please… Please just tell me _why_ …" She didn't know if she was begging or demanding, but her words seemed to have an effect on him. He took a step back, and she swore she saw him shiver.

"I'm a monster, Soraka. I always have been. I hunt men for a living. I've killed so many times before." His voice came out as a low growl, but she didn't see any aggression in his posture anymore. She slowly let her hands fall to her sides. She wouldn't have been able to stop him, anyways. "I undertook this transformation willingly. But I'm losing myself to the beast. The only way I can stop it, the only way I can remain myself, is if I collect the heart of a celestial being."

Soraka felt herself grow pale as she stared at him with her new eyes. All of her conversations with him, all of her time spent with him, suddenly felt bitterly hollow. "Everything… everything we did together…"

"It was a lie." Warwick's words were the final confirmation for her. Soraka hung her head and stared at the ground, her dark hair forming a veil that blocked the rest of the world from her vision.

"You only needed my heart." She smiled bitterly at the dirt beneath her feet. At that moment, she wouldn't have minded if he killed her. She wasn't sure she had anything left to live for.

She heard Warwick take a step closer and braced herself for the inevitable. But the moment never came. Instead, she heard him sigh, and, moments later, the sound of hastily-retreating footsteps.

Soraka looked up, but Warwick was nowhere in sight. She let the tears spill freely down her cheeks, now; it felt better to let them out than to hold them in. She set her face in her hands as she tried to wipe them away, to keep her face clean, but there was no stopping them.

The heavens. The grove. Warwick.

What did she have left?

* * *

Warwick shambled through the streets of Zaun without a destination in mind. He was lost utterly to his thoughts, uncaring of where he ended up.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself kill Soraka. The moment he'd seen her pain writ across her face, all his strength had dried up.

He was so damned _weak_.

Weak. Weak, weak, weak. So terribly, terribly weak.

What would his wife think of him now? What would Singed think of him? He'd built up a reputation as one of the most ruthless hunters in Zaun, and now he was going to lose his mind because he was too cowardly to do what he needed to do.

Perhaps it would be better to give in, he thought. Then he wouldn't need to deal with so much hurt. Then he wouldn't need to care about what he did anymore; he could just give himself to the thrill of the hunt, the blissful release of the kill.

_What am I thinking?_

That was just as foolish as his decision not to kill Soraka. He'd had her dead to rights - without her divinity aiding her magic, she was no more than a simple healer with a few tricks up her sleeve. He could've done it. Or could he have?

Warwick was stirred from his desolate thoughts by a familiar scent. It was a scent he hadn't picked up in a long, long time. The scent of a certain brand of Piltovian whiskey. He knew of only one man who drank that whiskey. Almost immediately, he turned down an alleyway to follow it to the source.

Minutes later, he found himself in front of an old machinist's shop, looming in the darkness of a nearby alleyway. And there, in front of the shop, stood a man he would never forget in his life.

He was tall, with an almost regal bearing. His curly brown hair was cut short and proper, but his face had none of the nobility of the rest of him. Though it may have been handsome once, it was marred by so many scars that he looked more like a dock worker than a nobleman.

Warwick's mind carried him back to the moment of his wife's death. Five men stood before him; four dead today. Only one had continued to slip the noose all these years.

But not anymore. Warwick's breathing grew heavier as his agitation grew. He would kill him today. There would be no escape for this man. "Antello…" He murmured to himself. That name had been burned into his mind.

Antello waved goodbye to the machinist and turned to continue down the street. Warwick followed him at a distance, sticking to the alleyways, waiting for him to be alone. He didn't want any distractions or interruptions once he got his hands on the man. Antello seemed to have quite a few chores to take care of in the city today; over the next thirty minutes, he paid a visit to a chemist, an armorsmith, and a fishery. Warwick didn't doubt he was doing errands for one of the chem barons. Soon enough, though, Antello wound his way to a secluded part of the docks, far from anyone else's sight.

Antello stopped suddenly as Warwick peeked out at him from behind a nearby shed. "You can reveal yourself now; you're not as sneaky as you'd like to think you are," He said, turning to look in Warwick's direction.

Warwick chuckled to himself as he stepped out from behind the shed, giving Antello a toothy grin that held no mirth whatsoever. "You always were a sharp-witted one, weren't you?"

Antello balked slightly. He'd apparently not anticipated Warwick's bestial appearance. "Who are you and what do you want, beast?"

Warwick took several slow steps forward. He was going to enjoy this. "You know who I am."

Antello's hand went into his coat, and he produced a folding blade from some unseen pocket. "I'm warning you, I'm one of the best swordsmen in Zaun. I'll run you through before you can so much as breathe on me."

The bounty hunter slowed to a stop, a few feet away from his prey. "Funny. All four of your friends said something similar, but now they're all blood stains and corpses."

Recognition flashed in the man's eyes, and he leveled his blade at Warwick's chest. "Warwick. Fitting that you should be reduced to a slavering animal. Even more fitting that I should be the one to kill you!" He surged forward in a lightning-fast lunge, intent on piercing Warwick's heart in one stroke.

Warwick shattered the blade with a casual swipe of his claws. Blood sprayed in a small arc from Antello's hand as the wolf-man's claws tore into his skin. "You…" Warwick growled. " _You_ …" His vision slowly turned red as he saw the fear being kindled in the man's eyes. The scent of his blood was in the air now, and his percussive heartbeat was picking up speed. Laughter rolled from Warwick's chest, but it was a sound no human could ever produce.

Antello turned and ran. Warwick howled with the fury of a beast unchained, and gave chase.

* * *

"Thank you! Thank you so much." The old woman bowed vigorously in Soraka's direction, a gesture that made the starchild feel distinctly awkward.

Soraka passed the baby in her arms back to the woman with a small smile. "She shouldn't have any more coughing fits. You may want to feed her a concoction of water and stetheris leaves, though. It'll help her resist further infections."

"You're a miracle-worker, I swear. Are you sure you don't want anything for your help?"

"I'll be fine. Just stay safe for me, won't you?" Soraka waved her farewell to the woman before stepping out of the little cottage and back out into the village. It was a tiny place on the outskirts of Zaun, and as such it was quite full of sickly people suffering the deleterious effects of living next to the waste-strewn metropolis.

Initially, Soraka hadn't known what she would do. The grove had begun to wilt and die almost as soon as she'd returned to it. Her efforts to continue sustaining it had failed. With no reason left to stay there, she had instead set out in the direction of Zaun. She remembered Warwick once mentioning that there were countless people there in need of aid; though a part of her wondered if he had been lying about that too, she couldn't leave it up to chance. Thus, she'd become something of a wandering healer in the last few days.

Of course, it wasn't as easy as it used to be. She no longer had her divine powers, so all of her healing magic drew upon her own vitality. After healing most of the people in this village, she was thoroughly exhausted, and she slowly paced down the dirt-clod street as she looked for somewhere shady to sit down.

"Miss! Miss healer, if you're looking for somewhere to rest, you can come inside the tavern here." A young man with bright blonde hair was waving to her from the porch of a larger building. "We've got food and drink and plenty of room to sit."

"As long as you understand that I can't pay," She said. "I don't really have any money."

"That's just fine! You've helped so many people here today. Please, come inside," He said, beckoning to her.

Soraka followed him inside. It wasn't particularly well-lit, with most of the candles scattered around the room burning low, but some natural light filtered in through the windows. Soraka took a seat on a bench near one of the windows, letting the light wash over her as she rested her weary legs. "Can I get you anything?" The young man asked, suddenly brandishing a notepad and a pencil.

"Some water and… something without meat, please," Soraka said, offering him a tired smile.

"Coming right up!" He said, departing in the direction of the kitchen.

Soraka was left alone with her thoughts. She had thought countless times before that she wanted to see the world of Runeterra. It had never really become an anxious, intense desire until Warwick had started visiting, though. He'd changed her, perhaps in ways he didn't even understand. As she stared at her hands, bathed in the gentle sunlight from the heavens, she wondered if she had brought this fate upon herself.

She was alone. Warwick had lied to her, consigned himself to some awful fate. But she was still a healer. She could change people's lives for the better, even if it cost something of herself. It wasn't the worst life she could have ended up with. Warwick could have killed her and torn her broken heart from her chest, but he didn't. He'd taken something from her, but he'd given that much back to her. And for that, she could be thankful.

"Here you go, ma'am." The young man returned, carrying a plate and a mug with some rudimentary silverware. Soraka accepted them both with a nod of her head. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Soraka looked at her food. It looked like some sort of mashed vegetable mix. It didn't look entirely unappealing. She dug in and found that it tasted quite pleasant on her tongue. She hadn't had much cause to eat back in the grove; it was something she now lamented, having had a chance to sample some of the fare that mortals regularly supped on. Truly, perhaps this wasn't so bad, she thought as she took a refreshing sip of water.

Someone else came into the tavern, looking haggard and disheveled. At once, he walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. Soraka frowned as she unconsciously eavesdropped on the resultant conversation.

"What happened to you?" The young man behind the counter asked.

"Something's gone terribly wrong over in Zaun."

The bartender arched an eyebrow as he passed a mug to the shaken-looking man. "What? What's gone wrong?"

Immediately the new patron took a long swig of his drink. "Some horrific beast has started stalking the streets, attacking anyone and anything it sees. There are a lot of injured so far."

"That's awful," the bartender sighed. "But sadly, not surprising for Zaun. How many dead?"

"That's the thing," the patron said, taking another long pull from his drink. "Only one's dead so far. Some fella who worked for one of the chem barons. Everyone else what gets attacked is just left maimed. S' like this thing is trying to hold back."

"I don't know whether to be relieved or worried by that." The bartender turned to look at Soraka. "Are you done?"

Soraka had set her plate and mug aside and stood up in a hurry. "I'm done. Thank you very much for your hospitality," She said with a quick, fragile smile as she offered him a bow.

"Well, sure. Feel free to come back any… time…" His sentence trailed off as Soraka hurried out the door, leaving him and the haggard patron to stare at where she'd been.

Soraka didn't much care that she was still hungry. She needed to get to Zaun.

* * *

"Now listen here! The chem barons have had it up to here with this beastie!" The thug-turned-guard-captain lifted a hand and held it at forehead-level as he addressed his cohorts. "We're not letting this damn thing affect production any further! We're going to hunt it down and kill it like the animal it is!"

Though there were a few cheers from his fellows, one of them didn't look entirely convinced. "They're saying this thing's fast, strong, and smart as hell. How are we supposed to kill it without it killin' us?"

"That's the thing, Blonsky," The leading man said. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a spherical device. "We're goin' to gas the damn thing out! We've been given a stock of chemical weapons to clear out the thing's whole hunting grounds." He gestured grandly to a stack of several crates nearby. "Come and get your armaments, boys. We're going hunting today!"

With that, the confidence of the group seemed considerably bolstered, and they went to work collecting their bombs and tools that they would be using to pin down their quarry.

They were so distracted with their preparations that only the captain noticed the newcomer approaching. She was a pretty woman, dressed in orange and blue, with hair the color of a midnight sky and piercing golden eyes. Almost immediately his interest was piqued. "Hey there, girlie. This ain't a place for civilians. Don't you know these're the mad beast's hunting grounds?"

"I know," the woman said, her expression serious. "I'm here to stop him."

The captain stared at her for a long moment, then let out a boisterous guffaw. " _You_ are goin' to stop the beast? That thing would go through ya like paper! This ain't a game, girl!"

The woman sighed and closed her eyes. "You seem a little unsteady. Do you perhaps have a limp in one of your legs?"

"The hell? That's not relevant at all! Are we talkin' about the beast or not?" The captain scoffed at her. He raised a questioning eyebrow as she opened her eyes and stepped closer to him.

"May I touch you?" She asked.

His eyes widened. "Are you comin' on to me? 'Cos this is neither the time or the place, but I can arrange a little somethin' later if you like."

She gave him a flat look, then set a hand on his leg. Golden light radiated from her fingers, and a lingering ache faded from the man's leg. It had persisted for so long, he'd almost grown used to it, but in its sudden absence was a sort of euphoria he didn't know was possible. He stumbled back from her with a look of shock. "W-what was that? My leg! My leg's been hobbled since I was fifteen!"

"And now it's healed. It's what I do," The woman said.

He squinted hard at her. "Just what the hell are you?"

"I'm a healer," She said matter-of-factly. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd let me handle this matter. I can deal with the beast. I promise."

"Hey, chief! What's goin' on here? Who's this lady?" The others were starting to take notice, shuffling back over to where the captain was conversing with her.

The captain looked back and forth between the lady and his men, then back at the empty, desolate-looking district he'd been planning to lead them into. The whole place had been cleared out in anticipation of the hunt. It was eerie.

The beast hadn't been roaming for long, but he'd heard some pretty gruesome stories already. It hadn't killed more than one yet, but he knew it wouldn't be long. Did he really want to confront the damn thing? This woman seemed to know what she was doing, besides. He sighed and turned to his men. "Alright, boys, change of plan. We're gonna let this here healer-lady go in first. She's gonna try to… do somethin' to the beast, get it to behave. We'll give her…" He frowned as he thought to himself. "One hour," he said, giving the woman a look. "You've got one hour to solve this for us, and after that, we're goin' in with the gas bombs and clearin' the beast out. Got it?"

The woman nodded, a thin smile upon her lips. "I understand. I appreciate your consideration."

The captain wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he shrugged. "Well, it's your funeral, lady. Take care in there."

He and the others watched as she walked on ahead, alone, into the empty factory district. One of the men stepped up alongside him. "Are you sure she's got this, chief? This seems kinda… suicidal."

The captain scratched his head, idly testing the newfound strength in his leg. "I dunno, but I get the strangest feeling she's got a plan better than any of us."

* * *

Where the rest of the city had been fairly bustling, the streets here in the closed-off district were unsettlingly empty. Soraka did her best to stand tall despite her fears. She knew Warwick, or at least, she hoped she did. She had to believe that her plan could work, that she could save him from this beast that had claimed his mind.

But the doubts were still there. She had never had to contend with her mortality before. The realization that she could die here - that everything she was and ever would be could disappear at any moment - weighed heavily upon her, and at times she was surprised she hadn't been reduced to tears. But she'd given enough advice to others about their own lives. Reflecting upon all of it told her one thing.

It didn't matter if she lived or died. What mattered was trying. Trying to change things, trying to make lives better. Trying to live the best life she could. She didn't think she could live her best life if she consigned Warwick to a lonely death at the hands of a cleanup crew. He'd betrayed her, taken everything she knew from her - but he deserved better than that.

She really hoped she knew the real him.

As she rounded a corner into a narrow alleyway between two warehouses, she felt a presence watching her. She couldn't hear or see it, but she knew Warwick had spotted her. He was somewhere nearby, observing her, waiting for an opportunity. She wondered if he still recognized her, or if he was too far gone for that. Based on the stories she'd heard, it seemed like he was still clinging to some little shred of himself that was holding him back. But it wouldn't last for long.

She'd almost reached the end of the alleyway when a heavy, powerful shadow dropped down in front of her, landing on all-fours. It straightened up slowly into a familiar silhouette. Warwick's eyes had gone bright red, and they practically glowed in the low light as they seared into her face. He stood still, watching her, for a long moment.

Soraka lifted an arm, outstretched towards him. She took a step forward. "Warwick, it's me. Soraka." As she spoke, she called some of her magic to her fingers.

She saw Warwick shudder, once. And then he leapt at her, almost too swift for her to react.

She knew she wasn't strong enough to kill him, or even really injure him with her offensive magics. She was never meant to be a fighter, and never would be. Her place was always that of a healer and a guide. So when Warwick dove for her, she didn't call upon the fire of the stars to singe his fur. She didn't try to blind him or wound him.

Instead, she willed a little of her own vitality into her magic, and as he fell upon her with claws at the ready, she healed him.

His claws tore a gash into her shoulder before her magic could connect, but as soon as it did, the effect was immediate. He flinched, then stumbled back a step, away from her, giving her a chance to backpedal, clutching at her shoulder. The pain was extraordinary, but she wasn't focused on that right now.

He'd reacted to her healing. He'd felt it. This could work!

And then, Warwick seemed to recover his bearings, and he hunched over onto all fours as he prepared to charge at her again. Soraka felt her heart begin to race as she turned and bolted for the other end of the alley. She would need to ready her magic again before he could reach her a second time, or he would tear her apart and be done with it. She could hear his rapid footsteps pounding on the pavement behind her as she neared the end of the alleyway, and she just barely managed to get around the corner before he dove out of it with the intent of bringing her down. His claws snagged on a piece of her skirt and tore a scrap of blue from it as he went, and with his uncontrolled speed he went tumbling into a pile of trash heaped against a wall nearby.

Before he could get himself back on his feet, Soraka hurried over to him and pressed her hands to his back. "Stars guide you!" She called as she let more of her healing magic course into him.

Another shudder ran through him, more intense this time, and he whirled with claws out as he pushed her away. They left a nasty gash in her hip, and she groaned in pain as she did her best to ignore it. Her magics could heal others just fine, but with how they taxed her own energy now, there was no way she could effectively heal herself. She would have to keep going as she was.

Warwick was back on his feet and ready to give chase again. Soraka let out a panicked yelp and hurried through a door and into a nearby warehouse. The place was evidently in disuse, because it was almost pitch-black inside, with only the faint lights streaming in from the clerestory windows allowing for visibility. She heard Warwick follow her in, then stop in the doorway, his long shadow obscuring the light flowing in. She turned a corner around a set of shelves and leaned against them, hoping he wouldn't see her before she could catch her breath.

She was feeling woozy and light-headed. She'd already done a lot of healing outside the city and hadn't had much time to recover, and she was pouring everything she had into healing Warwick. Coupled with her injuries, she wasn't sure she had much left in her. This would have to be it.

She could hear Warwick stalking between the shelves, looking for her. She knew he could likely smell her, and that he'd be honing in on her even now. She called her magic to her hands one last time as she waited for her opportunity.

Warwick was walking towards her. He would be just around the corner soon, and then she could reach around and heal him one more time. She had to hope it would be enough. One step, two steps… Just one more…

And then they stopped. Warwick wasn't moving. He would be just barely out of reach as he was - did she dare risk it? She leaned ever so slightly around the corner to try to get a glimpse of him.

He wasn't there. She felt the shelf she was leaning against shudder as something heavy landed on top of it. She looked up just in time to see Warwick diving down on top of her with a howl of fury.

She collapsed to the floor as his weight fell atop her, and immediately one his hands went to her throat, pinning her to the floor. She could feel his claws digging into the tender skin at the nape of her neck, and she could see in his eyes his eagerness to deal the killing blow. He lifted a claw skyward as he readied himself to end her life.

Soraka lifted a shaking arm and pressed her hand to the dark fur on his chest. Flickering light blossomed from her fingers as she healed his heart with everything she had left. Warwick's claws descended towards her. "Warwick… please…" she begged.

The claws stopped. The angry redness faded from Warwick's eyes, and for a long moment he seemed dazed. She felt his grip on her neck slacken.

She didn't have the strength to force him away this time. All she could do was cough once, gasping for air, and stare up at him to see if he was himself again.

Warwick swayed slowly on top of her for a moment before his eyes refocused. They settled on her. "Soraka?"

She smiled weakly in the low light. It was strained, but she was genuinely delighted to hear his voice again. "That's me."

"You… how?" He asked, staring at her, wide-eyed.

"I healed you. It's… what I do." She would have laughed if it wouldn't have hurt so much.

Warwick breathed in and out, unsteadily. He didn't say anything for a long while. Soraka waited for him to get his bearings. "You brought me back. But… I can still hear the beast. It's not gone, not forever."

"No…" Soraka admitted. "I told you back when we first met that I couldn't heal that curse away from you. It's beyond me. All I can do is stave it off."

She felt a heavy, clawed hand settle on her chest. "Your heart is the only thing that can give me control again. It's the only way I can remain myself."

She offered him a brittle smile. "If… that's what you believe, Warwick… then take it. If it really will help you."

Another long silence followed as Warwick loomed above her. She saw him trembling, and she wished she could do something about it. But it would've been a struggle just to lift her arms at that moment, and it might've set him off besides. So she waited, because it was all that was left to her.

"I can't."

"You can't?" She stared up at him thoughtfully. There was no judgement in her gaze; only curiosity. She'd been more than ready to die.

"I can't kill you. If I did that… even if I didn't lose myself to the beast, I feel like I'd lose a part of myself." His hand slowly left her chest and settled on the floor instead. "I can't do this. I'd rather become a beast." Warwick pushed off of her, flopping back to sit on the floor next to her instead. Soraka tilted her head to look at him in surprise. She hadn't expected to hear that from him, especially after their last exchange had ended so bitterly.

She slowly, painfully pushed herself up into a sitting position. Warwick helped her up and leaned her against some boxes so she could sit comfortably. The two of them sat in silence in the low light, both of them uncertain of what to say. "I should leave," Warwick finally said. "So you don't have to see me when I change again." Despite his words, he made no effort to move.

Soraka frowned at him, then slowly, carefully lifted a hand and beckoned to him with a few curled fingers. Warwick watched her warily. "Are you sure?"

"Come here," She said, almost impatient. Warwick obliged, scooting closer until he was sitting next to her. "Thank you," she said, before leaning her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to leave." She gingerly set her hand on his chest. "I can heal you."

"You shouldn't have to. I've already destroyed your life once. I don't need to burden you further."

Soraka took a deep breath and then let it out. Warwick didn't smell much like a wolf. It was an odd thought to be having at that moment, but it was a calming one nonetheless. "You did do that. It was a careless and selfish thing to do. But I still want you here. I still want to help."

"Why?"

She lifted her head just enough to lock eyes with him as he lowered his own. "The mere act of asking me that is yet more selfishness, you know."

He smiled, just a little. It looked a bit sad. "Indulge me anyways?"

Soraka rolled her eyes, but nodded gently against his shoulder. "Because I care about you. The real you, the person you showed me back in the grove. And I know - I know you want to tell me that it was all a lie, that you're really a monster…" The fingers against his chest curled, clutching at some of his fur. "I know that this is just a shell. I know who you are inside. You are no monster, Warwick."

She thought she felt a shudder run through him. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself, ignoring the faint sniffling sound he made. She knew she'd made her point. He would let her stay.

Maybe eventually, she could even tell him how long he'd already had claim to her heart.

But that could wait.


	2. Chapter 2

"Soraka…" The word echoed in the empty blackness through which she found herself drifting. She couldn't feel or see her body anywhere. But she could hear that voice.

"Come to me…" What worried her most was how familiar that voice was. Why was it calling to her now, of all times? It didn't make any sense.

"What do you want from me?" She asked of it, but it didn't seem to hear her. She couldn't even hear her own voice. It was like she'd never spoken at all.

"Return to me, Soraka. My most precious…"

Soraka opened her eyes. Above her hung wooden rafters, perhaps six or seven feet up. Gentle light filled the room from some as-yet unidentified source as she stared at the ceiling, slowly calming down as she focused on steadying her breathing. She knew she'd had a nightmare, but for the life of her, she couldn't recall the details; only that it had frightened her.

She was still getting used to sleeping and waking up. The thing that vexed her most was trying to recover her senses whenever she woke. She never knew what time it was, or where she was, until she'd had time to get her bearings. It was a distressing feeling for someone like her, who'd spent most of her existence with an almost omniscient awareness of the world around her.

With her breathing back under control, she instead focused on analyzing her situation. Her shoulder and her hip both ached. She remembered that Warwick had wounded both of them rather badly during her last encounter with him. Still, they didn't scream with pain the way they had when the wounds were fresh.

Something soft was resting on top of her. She looked down at herself to see a thick woolen blanket draped over her. A turn of her head told her she was lying on what appeared to be a small cot, wedged into the corner of a little foyer suitable for a small house. Wooden furniture, a lantern hanging from the ceiling, and daylight filtering through slightly grimy windows gave the room a rustic air that was only dampened slightly by the hextech clock tick-tick-ticking away from the wall on the opposite side of the room.

She squinted at it. Eleven o'clock, presumably in the morning. Just how long had she been sleeping? And besides that, _when_ had she fallen asleep? The last thing she remembered was snuggling up to Warwick in that pitch-black warehouse. Had she lost consciousness?

Heavy footsteps set the floorboards to creaking as someone rounded a corner a few feet away from the foot of her bed. Warwick's familiar, shaggy figure appeared, scratching at his chin thoughtfully with a claw. She thought she heard him muttering something about supplies, but it was rather difficult to pick out. "Warwick?" She called out to him, but her voice came out raspier than she'd intended.

His ears perked up before the rest of him did. He turned his head to look in her direction, his eyes wide. "You're awake? That's a lot sooner than I expected." He took a few quick steps over to her to stand by the bedside. "How are you feeling?"

She stared up at him, confusion writ on her face, and coughed once.

"I'll… get you some water," He said after some trepidation, and he disappeared around the corner once more.

Warwick was taking care of her, then. She must have fallen unconscious when her injuries became too much for her; he would've carried her here afterwards. The thought made her smile, but it faded soon after as the ache from her injuries started to intensify. She was almost wishing she was still asleep when Warwick returned carrying a cup for her. She moved to lift her arm from under the covers, but the immediate protest from her shoulder stopped her.  
Warwick sighed and sat down on a chair next to the bed before leaning close to her. "Open your mouth a bit. Sit up as best you can." He said. She gave him a look of concern, but did as he asked. He lifted the cup to her lips and tipped it just enough to let the contents flow into her mouth. She drank slowly until the cup was empty, taking a sharp inward breath when he withdrew it. "That should help. Can you speak now?"

Soraka blinked blearily, opening and closing her mouth a few times before looking in his direction. "Thank you."

She saw his heavy shoulders shift in a shrug. "It's the least I can do, considering I'm responsible for the state you're in." His bushy brow fell slightly as he focused his gaze on her face. "So how _are_ you feeling?"

"Achey," she said, grimacing. "And a little chilly, too." She let the blanket shift down her torso a ways so she wouldn't have to keep holding it up, and realized that her tabard was gone. All she seemed to be wearing were her bandages, wrapped tightly around her chest and shoulder, and presumably, her pelvis. "What… happened to my clothes?"

"They were pretty ragged, and covered in blood. I had to get rid of them." Warwick gave her an apologetic look.

Soraka felt her cheeks starting to burn, almost inexplicably. "You undressed me?"

"I had to. I needed to dress your wounds before they got any worse."

She balked at him as she unconsciously set her uninjured arm over her chest. It wasn't bare, thanks to the bandages, but she still felt considerably exposed.

Warwick gave her a toothy grin. "What's that look for?"

Soraka looked away from him before the burning could get any worse. "I just… I've never…"

"It's not my first time seeing a woman naked, you know." She heard him chuckle. "Interesting to see that even celestials can be bashful, though."

She sighed as she tried her best to bite back her embarrassment, drawing the blanket back over her. "What am I going to wear, then?"

"I'll buy some new clothes for you in a bit. You were overdue for a change of outfit, anyways. But first, let me get you something for the pain." She heard his chair scrape across the floor ever so slightly as he stood up and headed back around the corner. She watched him go.

He was such an enigma. She knew that the Warwick she'd seen back at the grove was not the whole of the picture, but it was difficult to reconcile that version of him with the version she'd seen in the last few days. He still didn't seem half the monster he claimed to think he was, but she was nonetheless left floundering, wondering if she would ever be certain of the real him.

Warwick returned a few seconds later and offered her a ball of something green. It felt cool and soft when he set it in her palm. "Here. Chew on this; it'll help alleviate the pain over the next fifteen or so minutes."

Soraka lifted it close to her lips and sniffed it. "Is this... Zellin leaves?"

"I'm surprised you can pick it out from the scent alone. But I guess I shouldn't be," Warwick admitted.

She let out a breath of laughter before popping it into her mouth and starting to chew on it. It was pleasantly sweet, with a tart aftertaste. "You play a dangerous game in underestimating me," She teased. "But it's a good choice, all the same."

Warwick clasped his hands together in his lap as he leaned towards her, looming a few inches over the bed. "Now you're starting to sound like a Zaunite."

"I may have picked up a few of the mannerisms whilst making my way towards the city." She gave him a bemused smile. "You live in a very wild place, Warwick. Even your stories could not prepare me for it."

He eyed her for a long moment. She started to feel a little self-conscious in the resulting silence. Eventually, he leaned back against his seat again with a sigh. "Yes, well… it's not perfect, but it's home."

Soraka gave him a sympathetic look. "Did you grow up here?"

"I suppose I did." Warwick grunted. "I don't remember much of being a kid, though."

"You were probably a very rambunctious child." She grinned at him as his eyes narrowed. "But I quite like the man you've grown up to be."

Warwick simply hunched over, hands on his knees, as he squinted at her. Soraka kept her smile on her face, despite the little quiver of concern his stare sent through her chest.

"Anyways," Warwick said, seemingly dismissing the matter entirely, "Now that you're up, I ought to go fetch you some clothes. Probably some food, too, while I'm at it."

Soraka felt just a little forlorn as he headed for the door. "When will you be back?"

"Two hours at most. I promise you, it won't be long."

The door swung open and then shut again before Soraka could think to say anything else, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.

* * *

A small bell jingled from above the doorway as Warwick entered the shop. From the back, he could faintly hear the relentless clicking and buzzing of machinery, no doubt busily producing the wares that would be presented at the storefront. He stepped up to the counter and set a clawed hand on it, clearing his throat.

The little man behind the counter seemed not to have noticed his entrance, and as he lifted his gaze from the magazine in his lap his eyes went wide. He immediately hopped out of his chair and backpedaled a few steps. "I-I thought they said the beast disappeared…!"

Warwick sighed irritably. "I'm a customer."

The man blinked once, then twice, before straightening his posture and adjusting his spectacles. "...Of course you are," He said, apparently hoping to sweep his initial assumptions under the rug as quickly as possible. He ambled up to the counter once more, before giving Warwick a once-over. "I'm not sure we'd have anything that'd fit you, though. You'd have to put in a custom order."

"I'm not shopping for myself," Warwick corrected him. "Show me what you have in women's sizes."

The shopkeep stared at him quizzically, one eyebrow arched in concern behind the circular lenses of his glasses. "Do you have the measurements for the lady in question?"

Warwick grimaced. He'd considered taking them when Soraka was unconscious, but… that felt like a step too far. "No."

By the look he was getting now, he could only assume that he'd been fingered as some sort of kidnapper. Nonetheless, the shopkeep carried on, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "Okay, then. About how tall is she?"

"About five and a half feet." Again, the shopkeeper seemed to give him a once-over. Warwick was considerably taller than that, and he had no doubt that his answers were only furthering the man's suspicions. "Just show me what you have," He said impatiently, rapping one long claw on the counter in a gesture of warning.

The man behind the counter seemed to consider this for a few seconds before nodding. "Very well. I'll be with you in a moment." With that, he disappeared behind a curtain on the other side of the counter.

Warwick leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he ruminated. All of his interactions with normal people seemed to go this way since his transformation. The scofflaws of Zaun didn't care much what he looked like, but with anyone above-board it was always stares and unspoken accusations. It was almost enough to make him long for the days when just about everyone he associated with was a criminal. Almost.

Three minutes later, the shopkeeper returned through another curtain on the other end of the room, pulling several polished metal racks on wheels. He made a small beckoning gesture towards Warwick once he came to a stop.

"Since we only know your lady-friend's height, your best choice would be some more loose-fitting garments, like these," He said, gesturing to an array of robes, shirts, skirts, cloaks, and pants. "The ones on this rack," He said, gesturing to the one nearer Warwick, "Are made of relatively inexpensive material and come rather cheap."

Warwick's eyes caught on a long green tabard with white accents hanging on one of the further racks. "And the others?"

"These ones are premium goods. The cheapest of them start at 200 gold."

Suddenly Warwick felt rather foolish for even giving the outfit a glance. He could afford it, sure, but that kind of price was beyond unreasonable. And that was the _minimum?_

"Assuming you are satisfied with your options, sir, I will await you at the front counter for checkout." Warwick gave the man a small, disinterested nod as he looked through the "cheap" rack for something that would likely suit his guest.

He ended up picking out a handful of items, including a robe, a jacket, a blouse, and a skirt, all of which looked like they'd at least fit her. He was about to head for the counter when his eyes flickered to the tabard once more. He sighed wearily.

He was absolutely going to hate himself for this.

* * *

The streets of Zaun were more quiet than usual as he headed back towards his hideaway, a bag in either hand. People he passed on his way tended to give him a wide berth, but that was normal since the transformation. He could only guess that there was still some trepidation in the populace with the recent attacks he himself had perpetrated.

As if that very thought had been a signal, he heard someone shout from just behind him. "You there! Beast! Halt!"

Warwick bit back the growl that threatened to bubble out of his throat, instead turning to face his would-be apprehender. It was someone he recognized; the man stood just a few inches shorter than him, with a bushy mustache and goatee on his face that he probably thought looked proudly military. Warwick thought it looked more flamboyant than anything, but he'd never bothered to comment on it. What did surprise him, however, was the evenness of the man's stride. He'd always walked with a limp, but now there was no trace of it.

"Your days of chaos and infamy are over!" the man snapped, leveling the point of a long spear at Warwick's chest from a few feet away.

"Cahill," Warwick said, giving him a bemused smirk. "You're looking well. What happened to your limp?"

Cahill stared at him as the gears visibly turned in his head. Finally, things seemed to click, and he lifted the tip of his spear slightly. "Warwick? Is that _you_ in there?"

"That's right." Warwick lifted one of his bags. "You're interrupting my shopping, actually."

"I…" The would-be guard captain seemed to be at a loss. "Ya definitely match the description of the mad beast, though. I don't know how you seem to have regained your senses, but I'm afraid I'm gonna need ya to come with me to stand trial before the chem barons."

Warwick's brow twitched almost imperceptibly. That wouldn't do. "Look, Cahill, I don't really have time to stand trial, much less explain myself to the barons. So I'm going to give you an alternative."

Cahill fixed him with a hard stare. "Aye? And what's that?"

Warwick straightened up to his full height, curling and uncurling his clawed fingers as he grinned at the man, giving him a good look at his fangs. "You're going to tell the barons that the beast disappeared for good, and I won't give you a taste of what that beast can do."

The hapless thug finally seemed to realize just what he was up against, and his face grew several shades paler. Eventually, he straightened his spear entirely and set the butt on the ground beside him as he considered his words carefully. "Well, when ya put it that way…" Warwick watched him intently, his dark, bestial eyes narrowed. "I s'pose it couldn't hurt to tell 'em you're gone. I mean, we are old friends an' all."

"If that's how you want to rationalize it," Warwick chuckled.

"But you best not cause any further trouble! I'll be keepin' an eye on ya, Warwick!" Cahill set a fist on his hip, trying to look proud and imposing as he did his best to recover some of his lost pride.

"Whatever. Run along." Warwick rolled his eyes and turned to continue down the street.

"Damn thugs. Shoulda cleaned the lot of 'em off the streets a long time ago…" Cahill's muttering followed him for a few steps as the two parted.

Warwick wondered if the poor man would ever understand that he himself had been a "thug" too, before the barons had given him his little honorary title.

Those thoughts soon faded from the wolf-man's cares, however, as he continued down the streets, turning into an alley as he began to wind his way away from the busier and more populous parts of Zaun, towards the tiny side street where he'd made his home.

The bag in his right hand was heavier than the one in his left, and he glanced down at it as he felt his musings shift in a different direction, towards the former celestial who'd become his guest for the time being. On the top of the stack of clothing inside the bag sat the forest-green tabard he'd told himself he wouldn't buy. His coin purse was considerably lighter for that indiscretion, and he still didn't fully understand why he'd gone and done it.

He told himself it was because it would make her happy. That was the easiest answer; She would enjoy the familiarity, and that would make his life easier in turn. But the more he considered, the more he came to realize he didn't understand his relationship to Soraka. He didn't think he understood Soraka at all, in fact.

She was caring to a fault. Here in Zaun, that was an anomaly. Few people here had a care for anything other than coin, and fewer still cared where that coin came from. He'd spent his whole life learning not to trust people's intentions. And then here was Soraka, trying to earn his trust.

He had few enough reasons to leer at her shows of good faith, now. She'd given up everything she'd ever had just trying to protect him. She'd been willing to die if it meant returning him to his sanity. And all of this, even after he'd ruined her, hurt her, and lied to her. He had no reason not to trust her intentions.

And yet, her very presence seemed to inspire within him a certain anxiety that he could not place. The way she looked at him, the questions she asked; Somehow, it left him more wary than any back alley deal he'd ever taken. He didn't know why it bothered him that she cared so much.

But with all that reflection, perhaps he could at least tell himself why he'd bought that tabard for her. Just that morning, he'd given her the cold shoulder when she'd tried to dig up his past. This could serve as an ample apology. Better an unspoken one than one that would have to come from his mouth. He would try his best to accommodate her curiosity, and to better understand his own concerns.

It was the least he could do, after all.

* * *

Warwick stepped inside to find Soraka on her feet.

He grit his teeth as he shut the door behind him. She had her back to him; The blanket from the cot was draped around her shoulders like a sort of cloak, leaving only her ankles bare as she stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, staring at something in her hands.

"What are you doing up? You should be resting," He growled as he stalked forward to stand next to her.

She jolted slightly as she finally seemed to register his presence. Her golden eyes fixed on his as she held the object in her hands close to her bandaged chest, quickly flashing him a strained smile. "Well, I was feeling a lot better, and I was curious, so I thought I'd look around…"

Warwick scowled at her as he set his bags down on the floor before snatching the object from her hands in one swift, dexterous motion. It was a picture frame; within it was a faded photograph, taken in portrait of a woman in messy overalls. Her short hair and bright smile gave her the air of someone who was unconcerned with the trifles and worries of the world. His look of irritation faded as he let the arm holding it fall to his side. Soraka's gaze tracked from the picture frame to his face as he looked at her once more. "Is that her? Your wife?"

Suddenly he felt all of the patience he told himself he'd cultivate evaporating. "Go lie down before you agitate your injuries any further."

She pouted at him. "But I'm feeling better!"

"The only reason you're feeling better is because of the medication!" He pointed one clawed finger at the cot in a rather stiff motion. "Lie down!"

"Fine…" She sighed, but she didn't resist further before moving back to the bed and lying down again.

Warwick set a hand on his forehead to nurse the burgeoning headache away as he stepped into the kitchen and set the photograph down on a corner of the countertop. He gave it a last lingering glance before stepping back into the foyer and grabbing the bag of clothes he'd been carrying, dropping it onto the bed next to Soraka. "Here. These are for you," He said, with less gentleness than he'd planned. "I'm going to go make something to eat."

She didn't say anything to him as he turned and headed back to the kitchen, her attention apparently intent upon the bag now sitting beside her. He vaguely heard her rummaging through it from the kitchen as he went to work setting up a pot and gathering the ingredients he'd bought from the other bag.

"Oh!" Soraka called from the other room. "This is…"

Warwick filled the pot with water from a tap before setting it on the hextech stovetop and turning it on. He slowly added ingredients as the water began to heat up, mentally consulting the recipe he'd used so many times before. "Yeah. I thought I should make it up to you, since I kinda… shredded your original outfit."

"You're very thoughtful." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'm pragmatic," he retorted. "The moment you start thinking I'm a nice guy is the moment you set yourself up for disappointment." She laughed. He smirked to himself, feeling some of his earlier irritation fade. "Now just settle down and rest for a bit. I'll be done with this soon enough."

She did as he asked, and he finished off the rest of the cooking in relative quiet. He'd not made food for someone else in a long time; were he not a retired gangster, he might even have felt a little nervous about whether she'd like it. However, Warwick was not the type to fuss over such things, and he casually ladled out two bowls worth of stew before heading back around to the foyer. "Here," he said as he set the first bowl down on the table beside Soraka's cot. He opened the first drawer beneath it and grabbed a spoon before setting it down beside the bowl. "That ought to do it for you."

With that done, he sat down in the chair next to her beside, grabbing a spoon for himself and taking his first bite of his creation. It wasn't exactly the best he'd ever made, but it would do. It'd certainly help Soraka on her way to recovery.

He watched as she ate her first tentative spoonful. "How is it?"

She frowned at him. "Is there meat in this?"

"Well, yeah," He said. "You're not going to get better on vegetables alone."

"I see…" She sighed, before taking another spoonful and eating it with a marked reluctance.

"Look, maybe once you're in better shape we can talk about a vegetarian diet."

That got a small smile from her. "Okay."

They ate together in silence for a few minutes. He caught Soraka looking at him every now and again, but she seemed to have taken a cue from their conversation earlier in the morning and dialed her questions back. Eventually, however, the silence began to weigh on him. He'd told himself he'd try to accommodate her.

"To answer your question earlier…" She looked up at him, evidently somewhat surprised. "Yes, the woman in that photograph was my wife."

Soraka seemed to take a moment to process his answer. Eventually she gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "She looked very lively in that picture. Pretty, too."

Warwick resisted the urge to shoo her away from further questions, despite the nagging feeling the conversation was stirring in his chest. "Yeah. Lively is a good word to describe how she was." He stared down at the bowl sitting in his lap, halfway drained. "Her name was Ellory."

He waited for the onslaught of questions, but none came. To his surprise, Soraka didn't press him any further on the matter. He looked up to see her eating in silent contemplation. Eventually she seemed to decide that she'd had enough, and she set the bowl back on the tabletop beside her bed. "I'm sorry for looking around and prying like that," She said. "In retrospect, I can see why that would've been unwelcome."

"It's… alright." Warwick wasn't sure if it really _was_ alright, but he didn't think it would be right not to reassure her. He set his bowl aside, next to hers as he straightened up in his seat. "I'm just not good at talking about myself. I hope you can understand."

"A little," She said, giving him a small, tight smile. "I'm starting to get a clearer picture of who you are."

Why did those words make him so uncomfortable? He clenched his fingers tightly against his palms as he stared at her. "I see. That's good."

She nodded somewhat absently before seeming to look past him. He followed her gaze to the clock on the wall. Six o' clock; the light filtering in through the windows was tinged a golden orange as the sun began to set. She was watching him when he turned to look her way again.

"Do you still feel the beast?" She asked him matter-of-factly.

He nodded slowly. "On and off. Whenever I have to talk to someone other than you, it kinda flares up."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not," She said, though she smiled at him nonetheless. Eventually she extended a hand towards him. "I've recovered quite a bit of my vitality. I think I can resume healing you now."

"But it doesn't work," He protested, eyeing her outstretched fingers. "You can't cure my curse. We've been over this."

"I can't cure your curse," She admitted, "But I can keep it from getting any worse. You saw this first-hand when I brought you back from the brink." Her smile faded as she gave him a serious look. "Let me help you, Warwick. Neither of us wants you to see you lose yourself."

He gave her a long-suffering look, but nodded as he took her hand in his. She guided him to sit on the bedside, and then she leaned forward to rest against his back as she carefully set her palm against his chest. The result resembled an embrace, and he had half a mind to ask her whether it was entirely necessary. His protests died in his throat when a glance back at her treated him to a glimpse of her bandaged shoulder. He'd put her through enough already.

Warmth bloomed from her fingertips and fed into the core of his being. He closed his eyes as he tried to let himself relax, and for the most part he succeeded. As the furious inclinations of the beast gradually faded from his consciousness, he was left keenly aware of Soraka pressed against him. He could feel her steady breathing and her gentle heartbeat as she focused on the task at hand. Perhaps this was when she was at her most natural; these moments when she could respond to her calling as a healer.

They stayed like that for some five minutes in total. Eventually the warmth faded from Soraka's fingertips, and they brushed slowly through his fur in an unconscious gesture. He felt her shift slightly against his back, and a moment later he heard her yawn. "Soraka?"

"Tired," was her groggy response. "Healing takes a lot out of me now…"

"Then let's get you lying down again," He said, easing her off of his back before helping her back into a resting position. She didn't protest, but he got the faint impression she was disappointed. Her arm splayed out to the edge of the bed, her fingers still outstretched towards him as she turned her head to keep her gaze on him.

"This… will be a routine from now on… okay?" Her voice was soft and serene.

He swallowed, once. Routine. Things began to line up in his head as the pit of anxiety returned to his stomach. "Right," he said. She smiled contentedly as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off.

He sat back down in his chair as she fell asleep, his eyes fixed on her. He was finally starting to understand why he was so uncomfortable with her. Soraka was kind, thoughtful, and selfless. She only wanted what was best for him.

That wasn't what bothered him. He even liked that about her; it was the best reason he could think of that justified the beast's persistent quiet in her presence.

What bothered him was a realization that was just sinking in now, as she fell asleep content in her place as his healer and protector.

She was here to stay. And that terrified him.

* * *

Routine. That was the only way Warwick could describe the next three weeks of his life.

He'd change Soraka's bandages, offer her medicine or food. In the afternoons he'd look for potential leads in curing himself of the beast that lurked within him, but in truth, he wasn't sure he was really looking. It was really just an excuse to get out of the house. Come evening, Soraka would heal him until she'd exhausted herself. It was a pattern that left Warwick feeling more than a little stir-crazy, especially with the cessation of his hunts.

Matters were not helped by Soraka's increasing familiarity with him. No longer being confined to bed as her health continued to improve, she developed a tendency to insert herself into the mundane tasks of Warwick's routine, often with remarkable fluidity. She learned to cook, started organizing his shelves, began helping him with the occasional tasks he'd need done outside his home.

Her price for this relentless assistance was ever more curiosity. Though she'd clearly picked up on the way her questions sometimes discomfited her host, it seemed she was often unable to contain herself. Over those three weeks, Warwick ended up discussing his criminal history, his hobbies, the city he lived in and the people he knew in excruciating detail, until he was certain that Soraka was only asking so she could hear him describe it all again.

But despite the openness of their communication, there was a certain tension between them. Soraka could content herself with his stories for a while, but what really seemed to interest her was the _why_. Why he'd developed the skills he had, why he'd made his choices, why he'd fallen for Ellory in particular. These were questions he could not, and would not answer, and as it became increasingly clear that he would never be willing to share those insights with her, their relationship developed hints of strain.

So it was that Warwick spent much of his time looking for a cure. If he wasn't home, there was less chance that the two of them could further get on each other's nerves. It didn't matter if he was successful; as long as he didn't have to see the disappointment on her face again.

One place in particular he had been avoiding. It left a bad taste in his mouth every time he considered returning, but after three weeks and the steady deterioration of his personal life, he was willing to take the risk.

The antechamber leading into Singed's lab was an unwelcoming place. A row of seats lined one relatively barren wall, whilst the opposite wall held a board upon which had been scribbled a collection of different services and products, each with their respective fees. The far end of the room from the entrance held a locked door and a button, next to a small hextech device.

Warwick steadied his nerves before crossing the room and pressing the button. A minute of silence passed before the device crackled to life, and Singed's voice buzzed forth from its depths. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Warwick growled. "Your 'test subject'."

He heard wheezing laughter from the other end of the line. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Warwick. It's Warwick."

There was a pause. "Warwick? I'm surprised you yet retain your sanity. Didn't you transform more than a month ago now?"

"It's a long story." Warwick sighed. "Look, I can't get the celestial heart you want. Is there any other way you can keep me from losing my mind?"

"Wait." Singed sounded genuinely confused. "You actually went and tried to fetch the heart of a celestial being?"

"Uh, yes." Warwick's brow furrowed at the speaker. "You told me to."

The speaker exploded with wheezing, coughing laughter. The former bounty hunter grit his teeth as he tried not to let his temper get the best of him. Just when he was starting to consider telling Singed to shut up, the voice returned. "My apologies if you took me seriously when I said that. That was my idea of a little joke. I didn't think you'd actually try to kill a god." By his tone, Singed was apparently trying to avoid breaking into more fits of laughter.

Warwick's vision flashed red as he clenched his hands into fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "It… was… a joke?"

"Of course it was! What would I do with something like that? You asked me for false hope, so I gave you some."

Warwick slammed a fist into the wall above the speaker, hard enough to leave cracks. He didn't mind the way it made his hand ache in that moment. "You have no idea what you put me through."

"I can't believe you actually tried to do it!" Singed chortled. "I always knew you were prideful, but this level of hubris is unprecedented!" The mad chemist devolved into another fit of laughter as Warwick stood there, stewing.

He withdrew his fist from the wall before driving it into the speaker. Blue sparks burst from the casing as it crumpled beneath the force of his punch, and the crackling laughter finally died down into silence.

Warwick tried and failed to control his breathing. The beast was howling to be uncaged, but he couldn't let it loose. He turned and hurried from the lab, intent on getting home as quickly as possible.

* * *

Soraka had her nose buried in a book when the front door opened and shut with a conspicuous creaking. She'd gotten used to that noise in her short time here. She stood up from where she'd been sitting in the kitchen before strolling into the foyer. "Warwick! I think I might have something that could…" She trailed off as she saw him looming in the middle of the foyer, breathing heavily. His eyes were tinged with red.

"Soraka. Help me."

Immediately she dropped the book she'd been carrying and hurried over to him, calling healing magic to her fingers at once. She set her hands against his chest as she whispered a few words beseeching the stars. The change in Warwick's posture came quickly, and his shoulders sagged after a minute of her attention. But, to her surprise, he pushed her away before she could fully exhaust her reserves of energy. "Huh?" She stared at him, confused.

"That's enough," He said.

"I still have enough power to continue for at least a few more minutes," She protested, hoping it was just a misunderstanding.

"Soraka." She frowned as she met his gaze. "You've done enough. You don't need to stay here anymore."

Her lips parted as a small wave of shock spread through her. It felt like it took an eternity for her to process his words, but he was still standing there staring at her when she finally mustered a reply. "What are you talking about? I told you I'd stay."

Warwick set his face in one heavy, clawed hand as he gestured towards the door exasperatedly. "You don't _need_ to, though. You've recovered almost completely. You can handle the rest on your own. You're a talented healer! You could go anywhere and you'd be welcomed with open arms."

She took a step closer to him. "But I don't _want_ to go anywhere else."

He let his hand drop from his face as he took a step forward to loom over her. "Why not? I've seen how drained you are, every single evening. I can tell you're struggling to keep me in check." His voice boomed, and she forcibly resisted the urge to shrink away. "Why waste yourself on me?"

A few weeks ago, she might have been cowed. But in her three weeks and change outside the grove, she'd started to feel a little different from her old self. She kept her back straight as she met him stare for stare. "Because I believe things can get better! You just have to let me help you!"

"Things _aren't_ going to get any better! This is it! This is the sum of all my choices coming back to haunt me! All you'll get for clinging to me is a front-row seat to the chaos that ensues."

She shook her head vigorously, her dark hair flying left and right. "I don't believe that and I don't think you do either. What happened, Warwick? What's got you so riled up?"

He went quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as he stared into her eyes. Then he half-stepped, half-staggered his way over to the nearest wall to brace himself on it. "I just… finally realized that there was never a way to cure myself. Even my initial plan… even killing you wouldn't have saved me." His gaze was empty as he stared at nothing. "I'm just delaying the inevitable."

"That's not true," She protested. She stepped away from him to pick up the book she'd been reading, returning to him and leaning close so she could point out the passage that had interested her. "I was reading this book on rare artifacts, and I found this part about true ice." She glanced up at him with the most encouraging smile she could muster. "It says that true ice is so cold, its touch can permeate to the very soul of a troubled being and bring it peaceful stillness."

His eyes scanned over the passage, but he shook his head before he was even halfway through it. "It's a fairy tale, Soraka. A legend. It's not going to fix me."

"What do you lose in trying?" She closed the book and set it down on the table nearby before meeting his gaze again. She tried to reach for him, but he slapped her hand away.

"We'd be hiking halfway across Valoran just to watch me go insane. Better I lose my mind in the comfort of my own home, don't you think?" He smirked bitterly at her.

"Warwick…" His smile faded at her tone. "A frail hope is still better than no hope at all."

Another silence fell between them as he seemed to consider her words. Then he pushed off of the wall and headed for the door. "If I'm going to the Freljord, I'm going alone. I won't drag you through any more misery just for my sake," He said as he opened it.

"And where are you going now?" She asked.

"To be alone."

* * *

_"I'll take a slim hope over nothing, anyday."_

Warwick scoffed at the woman standing across from him as he brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "That's some optimistic bullshit, Elly, and you know it."

Ellory slapped him. It didn't hurt much, but still he scowled at her as he rubbed his cheek where she'd struck it. "So what, you'd rather die for nothing than take this chance?"

"You don't understand," He said. "The Cutters are all I've ever known. If I leave them, not only am I going to have absolutely nobody watching my back, but they're also going to want my blood."

"You'll have me," She countered.

He gave her a skeptical look. "Yeah, well, no offense, but I don't think you're going to be much in a fight."

"Is fighting the only thing you want to live for?"

"Well, no… but…"

She took his hand in hers, brushing her thumb against the skin of his palm. "I've seen the kind of person you are at heart. I know you can be more than this. Please," She said, meeting his eyes. "Come with me."

* * *

Warwick stared up at the night sky. The stars were invisible against the smog and the light pollution, but he liked to imagine they were still there watching him. Tonight, however, he wasn't particularly focused on them. His thoughts were elsewhere, drifting through long-buried memories.

Why did Soraka have to remind him of these things? For all of her kindness, she was just a reminder of the horrible consequences his decisions always had. The sooner she understood that and went her own way, the better off they'd both be. It didn't matter if he'd lose himself to the beast; it was what he deserved.

He felt bad for the way he'd treated her tonight, though. She deserved better than to have him rage at her. Still, what other way did he have of getting her to see the truth? He would never be what she seemed to want him to be. He'd never be able to tell her…

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of someone or something trying to clamber up the metal piping that ran along the wall of the building he now sat on top of. Immediately he sat up, on his guard for a potential mugger or rabid animal. "Who's there? Show yourself," he snarled.

"Um, Warwick? How do you do this?" Soraka's voice sounded very embarrassed indeed as it drifted up to him. Immediately he set his face in his hands as he tried to contain his exasperation.

" _What_ are you doing here?" He stalked over to the edge of the rooftop, glancing down to see the ex-celestial perched on a pipe about halfway up the wall.

She pointed towards a small network of pipes a few feet above her. "Trying to figure out how you managed to get past this part!" She glanced back and forth between him and the pipes for a few moments before her face lit up. "Oh! I think I've got it!"

"Damnit, stop. You'll just hurt yourself…" He groaned as she hopped with surprising nimbleness to the next set of pipes, shimmying her way up until she was within a few feet of him. She tapped at the brickwork a little ways below him as she extended a hand upwards.

"A little help?" She smiled awkwardly at him, and he gave her a flat look before leaning over the edge of the roof and taking her hand, hauling her the rest of the way up to the rooftop. She landed on the shingles with a slight stumble, and his free hand went to her waist to steady her. "Thank you," She said with a grateful sigh of relief. "That was harder than it looked."

"What the hell are you thinking? You could've easily fallen and broken your neck," he snapped.

"You didn't seem to have any trouble with it…"

He stared at her as he connected the dots in his head. "You followed me here." He felt another headache coming on, and he turned away from her as he closed his eyes and tried to will it away.

"I was worried about you." The tone of her voice sold it for him, and he suddenly had a hard time chastising her any further.

"You have a weird way of showing it," He mumbled, but nonetheless he turned to face her again before sitting down on the rooftop.

She sat down next to him, her gaze tracking up to the dark sky above them. "The view is really nice from up here."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I guess," he said noncommittally. He wasn't sure he should be talking to her, especially not after the state he'd left the house in.

She let the silence hang between them for a short while as she soaked in the atmosphere. Eventually, however, her eyes settled on him once more. "What are you thinking about?"

"It's not important."

Her lips curled into a tiny frown, and he immediately felt guilty. "Please? It's important to me."

"...Fine." Warwick heaved a heavy sigh as he looked away from her, opting to stare at his hands in his lap instead. "I was thinking about Ellory. Something you said earlier reminded me of her."

She didn't say anything, but he could feel her eyes on him. It was just like that time at the grove; she was giving him the option to continue. There was a choice before him, now, he realized. He could remain silent, and let Soraka drift away from him - or he could talk, and keep her here a little longer.

His mouth moved to form words before he finished thinking of them. "She met me when I was entrenched in a pretty bad gang called the Cutters. They were ruthless. Killers, thieves, human traffickers. I got involved with them when I was eighteen, and I was pretty deep into the scene when I met her two years later." He knit his fingers together in his lap as he continued, speaking almost too quickly as he tried to stay ahead of his inhibitions. "She saw what I couldn't see at the time - that I was in too deep. That I was going to get myself killed because I was too short-sighted to realize how dangerous my situation had become."

"She saved you," Soraka's helpful summation calmed him down somewhat.

He nodded, and the pace of his narration slowed down a little as he continued. "She… saw something in me, that I'm still sometimes not sure I see in myself. Said I was thoughtful, and clever, and funny. That I was wasting everything I could ever be, trying to be a thug." He smiled a little to himself as the memories rushed back to him. "It took a lot of persuading, but she eventually got me to leave the Cutters. We were on the run from them for a long while, but eventually they seemed to give up. And then, for a few years, it was mostly just Elly and me. We were happy together…"

Soraka nodded in his peripheral vision. He looked up at her as he realized his eyes were beginning to sting. "She was braver than I've ever been. She couldn't even fight, but she'd stare down tough guys who would gladly have fileted her in an instant. And despite all the shit she had to put up with as an ordinary engineer in Zaun, she always kept a smile on her face around me. She was like the sun, burning through the smog, but only to shine on me. Why? I never understood why she cared about me so much, but she did. She might be the best thing that ever happened to me."

"She certainly sounds amazing," Soraka said quietly.

"But that's just the thing," Warwick replied, his voice low. "As amazing as she was, she was still paired with me. I could never quite excise myself completely from crime. Even after the Cutters, I'd still take odd jobs with all kinds of lowlifes. Really, all I did was go independent. And I was good at what I did. Too good, I think. I let it get to my head. I thought I could control the whole of Zaun, and eventually that hubris caught up to me."

Soraka looked like she wanted to interrupt, but he didn't let her. He leaned closer as he stared at her, wide-eyed. He didn't care about the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "They killed her, Soraka. They killed her because of me. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I got her killed because I couldn't get enough of myself." He took in a shaky breath as everything seemed to spill out of him at once. "I'm selfish, Soraka. I'm selfish to a fault. I set out to kill you on a false promise because it appealed to my ego. No matter how many times it bites me in the ass, I always think I can do anything. And I can live with that, as long as it's only me that pays for it. But… I can't let it hurt you. You deserve better…" His shoulders shook, and he shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to keep looking at her.

Soraka's hand settled on his shoulder. He wanted to brush it away. It didn't belong there, but he couldn't make himself do it. He was having trouble enough controlling his breathing. His throat felt raw. "Warwick. You're right; you're selfish. I don't think I can really dispute that."

"Then why are you here?" He asked, his voice wavering pathetically.

Soraka took a deep breath and let it out. Warwick could sense how tired she was, deep down, but she carried on anyways. "Why do you think Ellory stayed with you, despite how self-interested you are? Despite how you never seem to change?"

"I don't know. She loved me, and I never understood why."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Open your eyes."

He shuddered once, but nodded and opened them. Soraka was looming in front of him, just a few inches away. Before he could look away, her hand went to the side of his face, urging him to keep his eyes on her. Eventually, she gestured to her shoulder, left bare by the tabard she wore. It had healed considerably in these three weeks, and now it bore only a scar where he'd maimed her. "This wound healed because you tended to me tirelessly for weeks on end. I have only you to thank for that."

"I gave you that wound in the first place…" He protested.

She ignored him, now gesturing to the dark green tabard she wore. "These clothes I wear were given to me by you. And trust me, I know you paid a lot for them. I've been to the stores around here. You could've left me with just a few unfamiliar threads, but instead you gave me something special."

He frowned as he considered that, but Soraka had already moved on. She pulled him close with both arms until his cheek was against her chest. He blinked several times as the warmth of her skin bled through her tabard to radiate onto his cheek. But beyond that warmth, he realized, he could also hear her heartbeat. It was beating very quickly in that moment, though somehow, Soraka's voice remained steady. "I still have this heartbeat of mine because when you could've killed me, you didn't. You had the power to take my life, but you never did."

"I destroyed everything you cared about…" He said, even as he continued to listen to the frantic rhythm beneath her breast.

"Warwick," she said, pulling him away from her chest so she could look him in the eye. "You are tremendously selfish. But you are also one of the kindest people I have ever met. You helped me to understand the world in a way I never would have if I'd stayed sequestered away in my grove forever." Her cheeks had turned faintly pink, he realized, but even still she forged onwards. "I firmly believe that for all the harm you've done me, meeting you is still one of the best things that's ever happened to me. And… and I think Ellory felt the same way."

Warwick felt his words failing him. "Soraka… I…"

"I beg of you, Warwick. Stop blaming yourself. She chose to be there, with you, all the way to the end. She knew what a reckless person you were, and she still wanted to be by your side." Soraka sniffed once, her eyes glistening. "You are a selfish person, but you're still worth fighting for. So please…" She said, letting herself fall forward to rest her cheek against his chest. "Indulge me this selfishness too."

The silence returned, punctuated only by the sound of shaky breathing. Warwick let an arm wrap around Soraka, holding her against him. Some of the haze cleared from his vision. "I'll indulge you, this once," He said.

Soraka let out a choked laugh that quickly devolved into sniffling. "Thank you."

Warwick carefully threaded his fingertips through her midnight-colored hair. "Really, I should be thanking you. I… I feel… calm. In a way that I haven't in a very long time."

She nodded, a tiny motion against his chest. "That's good. I'm… glad I could finally do something for you."

"It's hardly the first time you've done something for me, Soraka. But it might be the first time it's gotten through." He took another calming breath as he focused on the next steps. "If we're going to the Freljord, we'll need to leave soon. The closer to Winter it gets, the colder it'll be."

"You'll take me with you?" Soraka's voice was surprisingly meek as she waited for the answer.

"I will," He said. "We'll leave tomorrow afternoon, if I can find us a carriage."

"Okay." Soraka said, the uncertainty in her voice fading into contentment. She continued to rest her head against his chest for a few minutes more before pulling away. "I feel better now…" She said. "Thank you. Really."

"Don't mention it," he replied, smiling at her. "But…"

She frowned at him. "But what?"

He cocked his head to one side, his smile turning amused. "You really think you know how Ellory felt, huh?"

Her cheeks were suddenly pink again, and her eyes fell to her lap as she nodded in a small, jerky motion. "I mean, I don't claim to be anywhere near as amazing as she must have been, but, I think I can understand where she was coming from, and-"

"Relax," Warwick said, forestalling any further rambling on her part with a gentle pat on her shoulder. "That tells me more than enough already." He gave her a wink when she looked back up at him, and he swore he heard her whimper as he stood up and leaned over the edge of the roof to inspect the wall of piping they'd need to engage with to head back down. "Come on, then. I'll help you down, and then we should get back home. I think the both of us could use some sleep."

Soraka stood to follow his lead as Warwick briefly lost himself in thought once more.

Selfish, but worth fighting for? Was that how Ellory had seen him? He thought about the way she'd always smiled at him, even when he was being an idiot. She'd always seen the writing on the wall long before he had, but she'd still chosen to stay.

Warwick guided Soraka slowly back down the maze of piping, until the both of them stood on solid ground once more. She beamed her thanks at him as she turned to lead the way back home. He remained where he was for a moment as he watched her go.

And for once, he permitted himself to feel just a glimmer of hope, faint though it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have immediate plans to continue this as-is, but I may continue it at some point if people are interested in it.


End file.
